


Ustrina

by DiscipleOfBrad



Series: Winter and Fire [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Characters added who are dead to avoid spoilers, Cliffhangers, Death, Drama, Epic Battles, F/M, Fantasy, Minor Character Death, Multiple Storylines, Plot, Plot Devices, Plot Twists, Romance, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 37
Words: 193,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24008938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscipleOfBrad/pseuds/DiscipleOfBrad
Summary: A sequel to 'Bruda'. With the kingdom now under her control and the dark forces of the night defeated, Daenerys Targaryen believes that life can now run smoothly. But life is never that simple. With the North remaining a constant political issue and a strange new force entering the fray, is this one threat that she and her closest advisors can't all survive? I'd advise reading 'Bruda' first.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen, Melisandre of Asshai/Original Male Character(s), Tyrion Lannister/Missandei
Series: Winter and Fire [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721959
Comments: 45
Kudos: 55





	1. Summons and Money

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome back to the world of Bruda! This is the sequel to that story if you don't already know, a tale that centred around the pairing of Jorah and Daenerys with the introduction of the warlock Bruda. This story picks up very soon after that one finished. There was meant to be a small interluding story but I've opted to combine that with this story. I'd strongly recommend reading Bruda (not just because it's an amazing story!) so that you understand what Westeros is like when we pick up. It's good to be back!

The sun looked down upon the city of King’s Landing, a much more vibrant place than it once had been. The morning always tended to be the busiest of times down on the streets with vendors opening their stalls, the smells of fresh meat and sometimes fruit and vegetables attracting the largest of crowds. Shop owners were opening their doors along the Street of Flour, the pleasant fragrance of freshly baked goods wafting along the alley. Blacksmiths were putting their employees to work straight away across the Street of Steel, knowing that the City Watch was always in need of new swords and shields. Children would often sit outside and watch the metal being forged, entranced by the rhythmic process, often eating pieces of bread they had stolen to have something to eat. It was better though now. With the wars over with, the supply of goods and food into the city had gradually increased and reached a sustainable level. It was one less problem to worry about; a fed populace was a populace that didn't revolt. That had been her first goal as soon as she had come into power.

People seemed to be happy, which she was pleased about. She wanted to be a fair ruler and one that was loved by the people. Jorah Mormont had once said he had seen those qualities in her right at the very beginning of her journey to this point. Maybe he had been right, even if she hadn’t wanted to believe him at first. He was always so complimentary of her when he wasn’t focused on tactics and what decisions she should make. She should have seen the true reason behind his words and the affection he held for her a lot longer than she had. It had never been her strongest suit. All that mattered now was that she held the kingdom and the heart of her true love. That wasn’t to say that there weren’t issues still prevalent in the capital. It was a densely populated area, that was for certain. Regardless of the amount of food they were producing and importing, thanks in the most part to her alliance with the matriarch of Highgarden, Olenna Tyrell, there were always people coming to her wanting more. Claiming that there wasn’t enough for everyone. She had brought her council together a number of times now to focus solely on this one issue with little success. There was only a certain amount of food in the kingdom but a growing population. The two factors weren’t growing at the same rate. 

Tyrion Lannister, her Hand, had been the one mainly dealing with this problem. He was the one who spoke to people the majority of the time, making deals and promises that would benefit everyone. Progress was being made, albeit slow progress at that, and she was grateful that she had his expertise to help and guide her. Lord Varys, her Master of Whispers, made sure to keep his little birds flying about the kingdom to check that there were no major grumblings going on in places she couldn’t see, the dark alleys and underbellies of the city she presided over. He repeatedly reported that there were hardly any, which was obviously a good sign. He reassured her that people were simply greedy; the more food that came in, the more people wanted. The situation they were in currently was far better than the one they had suffered through the Lannisters’ inept and heartless rule. 

The sun was momentarily blocked out by a large shadow, one that the people of King’s Landing were slowly growing used to. Despite it being a truly terrifying sight, especially for new visitors, one that defied everything they had known. It was straight out of the fairy tales and stories the children were told but they could not deny that this was real. A scaled monster, predominantly black in colour with splashes of red over its body, soared through the air seamlessly. It let out a loud roar in satisfaction as it glided, always enjoying when it could spread out its wings. A dragon. A fantastical creature, a terrifying image in the morning sky. They had scarcely believed it when it had first come to the city, along with three others, the day that the Throne had been passed on. There was no wonder that the grumblings weren’t numerous; people told stories, most of them untrue, about how opponents of the regime and those who complained too much were encouraged to meet it face to face. That normally set them straight if they survived the encounter.

What was a more baffling sight was the beautiful young woman clinging onto its rough back, her blonde hair blowing in the wind as she looked at the city miles underneath her. Daenerys Targaryen, the new, recently crowned, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, always enjoyed her morning flights, a time to take her mind off the troubles of ruling. She said troubles...ruling was everything that she had thought it would be and she had to say that she was enjoying it. That was mainly because of the people she had around her but she also took pride in helping people when she could. Farmers would worry about losing stock if the dragons got hungry so she had promised sufficient payment to be given if that ever happened (she did tell them that it was very unlikely). Neighbouring lords and ladies would often visit with the worry that the Dothraki hordes, the warriors she had brought with her from across the Narrow Sea, would damage or steal from their properties. She would politely tell them that they had been told to keep to the open land that had been uninhabited just outside the castle walls so their concerns were needless. In her head, she would be shouting at them for calling her people ‘hordes’ or even ‘savages’ when they usually had more manners than most of the people in Westeros but she smartly kept these thoughts to herself. If she was being honest, she would say that she was surprised at how smoothly the transition had gone. That didn't mean that she didn't think things could go quickly wrong in this game.

Drogon landed with a heavy thud in the large fighting pit, which was on its way to being fully repaired. This had been one of her first actions as Queen, wanting a place for her children to land safely without the possibility of hurting anyone or destroying anything. It also acted as a symbol of the city embracing their presence, an attempt to connect the people with this side to her. She needed both aspects of her life to join together if she were to rule contentedly. It seemed that it was working. As she elegantly climbed off from his back, making sure to rub his snout softly in affection, she spotted a few people watching from afar, interested by the creature but too scared to come anywhere near. That would come with time, she was sure of it. Small steps were still steps after all. 

Davos Seaworth marched over to her as her feet landed on the floor, a small smile on his face. He was enjoying his new position as Master of Ships, giving him the chance to carry on with his life on the sea as well as staying close to the friends he had made. He had resisted calling them friends at first, thinking it was far too sentimental, but they had insisted, especially Daenerys. She wanted people to get on with one another. It was one aspect of her charm.

“Your Grace,” he greeted as he slightly bowed his head. He looked a lot more distinguished nowadays, dressed in fine black clothes, a cloak to match. He bore a small metal pin in the shape of a dragon entwined around an onion, something the woman in front of him had commissioned for him. She had made one for every member of her Council, all personalised in some small way. “How was your flight this morning.” She sent a kind smile in his direction, rejuvenated by the thrill of being so high in the sky.

“It was pleasant as always. The views are simply amazing when the sky is clear. You can see the lands stretch far beyond here. You know you can do it whenever you want to, ser Davos. I know how much Shireen loves it.”

“I can’t let her do it too much otherwise she’ll grow tired of it. And then how shall I entertain her?”

“Trust me, there is no chance of becoming bored of flying.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” They began to walk to the walls of the pit where members of the Queensguard and City Watch were waiting to escort her back to the Red Keep via a carriage. 

“I must say that I’m surprised by your presence,” she remarked. “Not that I’m complaining but you rarely step foot in this part of town. I’m guessing there’s a reason why.” She had a clue what it might be or, more precisely,  _ who. _

“He had the audacity to send me as a messenger! I tried telling him that that was not in my job description but he was already walking away, not bothering to wait for my response. I’m hoping that you’d give me a pardon if I were to kill one of these days.” She laughed gently, knowing that he truly didn't mean it. She hoped.

“What does he want with me this time?”

“The one thing that you’ve had him focused on recently. I tell you, I have never seen him so concentrated on one task.”

“Is there a problem with it?” She had thought it would be a fairly routine job.

“Not that I know of. But you know what he gets like. Sometimes it’s just best to go with his flow rather than actually ask him about it. He said that he would be waiting for you impatiently.”

**********

An old man with wild, long grey hair and a salt and pepper beard to match marched into the room full of builders and craftsmen, his strange metal staff clanging against the stone of the floor. He sighed as he saw the hole in the wall caused by his Queen’s dragon when she had killed the previous ruler. It wasn’t as bad as it initially had been, growing smaller with every day as they made repairs. It was just a slow and dangerous process, mainly because of the high drop that awaited anyone who made a wrong footing as they worked. Daenerys wouldn’t be too pleased if they lost innocent lives so her throne room could take proper shape. She’d entrusted him with its resurrection, a larger job than he thought she realised since she’d had the rudeness to make two large holes in the opposing walls. He cursed his look for being put in charge of this, blaming the skills he’d shown when throwing her the coronation celebration. Sometimes, he was simply too amazing for his own good. He liked to think that he was also very modest. 

Bruda, the ancient warlock that had been by Daenerys’ side since her time in the Eastern city of Meereen, walked over a small patch of blackness that was still on the floor. A scorch mark. The one that had been made as the old throne had melted away under the intense heat of dragon fire, quickly becoming a pool of liquid metal. He’d asked whether she wanted it removed but she claimed that it would be a permanent reminder to herself and everyone who visited of how she had gotten to where she was now. The journey she had been on and the actions she had been forced to make. He wasn’t one to argue with her and it gave him one less job to do. He hadn’t realised how busy he would be, working on her Council. He’d thought that, once the conflicts were over with, he’d get some time to relax, catch up on his reading and spend time with the delectable Melisandre. But no. He was put to work straight away and he couldn’t say no to Daenerys even if he wanted to. His issue was that, unlike her other advisors, who had specific roles and tasks to worry about, he worked on issues that covered many factors of ruling. She said it was a compliment. He said that it was slave labour, something she hadn’t been too happy to hear. If she wasn’t careful, she’d wear him out within a month of her taking the throne, he’d drop dead on the job and then he’d have the moral high ground. It was safe to say that it wasn’t one of his better plans.

When he thought about it, repairing the throne room and decorating it in Targaryen colours was not a difficult thing to do. If he wanted to, he could have done it with a few waves of his hand and then walk away a satisfied man. But Daenerys had wanted to include workers from the city so that they’d be able to get some extra income, the people would begin to feel more connected to and accepted by her brand new regime, and she could see the level of skill these workers had. She was a crafty and cunning woman, that Daenerys. And she knew it, which was why she was ruling the Seven Kingdoms. He was just glad to be along for the ride. The room wasn’t the thing eating away at him. It was the throne that was. She had asked him to create a new seat of power for her, which he’d argued profusely against. She should have gone to the renowned metalworkers of King’s Landing, not some old warlock, but she had said she trusted no one else more than him to a good job. The part that had scared him (although he wouldn’t admit such an absurd notion) was when she said the consequences if he got it wrong wouldn’t be  _ too _ bad. What did that mean? He knew she was messing with him since she took a lot of enjoyment out of doing so but he still didn't want to fail in meeting her expectations. He knew that she deserved the best.

He continued to walk around the room, noticing how the builders tended to shift away from him nervously. It was a common thing he noticed, that the locals weren’t trusting of him yet. He guessed that his reputation preceded him and many people had always been wary of users of magic. It was the same for Melisandre but she didn't venture out nearly as much as he did. And he tried to be so nice! Well...his version of nice anyway, which he realised was actually quite distressing for the person on the other side of it. He noticed one worker trying to edge further away from him, getting their bearings all mixed up and slipping on the edge of the broken wall. It was only because of his quick reactions, which were still in decent condition despite his considerable age, and his magical capabilities that they didn't fall to their death. The man was suddenly caught in a blue field as the tip of Bruda’s staff glowed brightly. He lowered him back to the floor, picking up on his characteristics. A well-built man with little hair and rotten teeth, he hoped he was a better builder than a model. 

“Please...watch what you’re doing,” he moaned, trying his best not to sound too annoyed. It wouldn’t do to scare him too much. “The last thing I want is you coating the castle in a fresh paint of red before I’ve chosen on a colour scheme.” The other man nervously smiled, not knowing whether it was a joke.

“Thank you, milord,” he muttered thankfully. “I owe you my life. Whatever I have is now yours.” Bruda rolled his eyes. At least someone had the balls to speak to him. Most of them could hardly put words together in his presence.

“First of all, I’m not a Lord. I’m actually quite far from it. So there’ll be none of that, don’t worry.”

“Sorry, mi...ser.” It was better, he guessed.

“And secondly...let’s just pretend that no one saw this happen. You didn't almost fall so I didn't need to save you. Understand? I’m not interested in you owing me anything.”

“You’re very kind...ser.”

“I know. Spread the word. Now, it would be nice if you could get back to work…”

“Right away, ser.” He watched as the man hurriedly scampered off to do as he was told, Bruda nodding his head in contemplation. That hadn’t been a complete disaster. Maybe he’d win the people over after all. He turned around and spotted Daenerys standing by the door with a knowing smirk on her face, which meant she must have seen what had just happened. Great. That was his sour reputation ruined. The city folk bowed their heads with mumbled utterances of ‘your grace’ as she walked towards him and she gave them all polite smiles. He met her part way.

“You finally decided to show up.”

“A Queen can arrive whenever she wants. It’s up to her advisers to do the waiting.” The smile on her face told him that she was teasing him once again. She’d grown to be far too good at it, challenging even his wit at times. “Well done on keeping the workforce alive.” Bruda waved a dismissive hand.

“That was nothing. It’d just look bad on me if someone was to die. And you would complain. I don’t want that.”

“Still...I appreciate you trying to grow a better relationship with my new people. You are one of my closest advisors. I need them to at least accept your presence and right to be here.” They began moving out of the throne room, heading for the corridors that made up the maze of the Red Keep. 

“Anything for you, my Queen.” She arched an eyebrow at his use of the title. He wasn’t usually so polite.

“Was there a reason why you summoned me? Ser Davos was not too pleased about being called into action.”

“I was giving him something to do, the ungrateful sod!” Daenerys hit him on the arm good naturedly. “It’s about the throne.”

“You seem troublingly vexed by it. Maybe I should find someone who has a better skill set…” He narrowed his eyes at her, picking up on what she was doing.

“I just don’t know what you want precisely. You haven’t given me many details.” She stopped him with a hand on his chest, smiling graciously at a soldier who walked past. 

“I want it to represent my journey to get to this point. I chose you to do this because, other than Jorah, you know me the best. My love does not exactly have the...talents that you possess so you were the natural choice. I want you to surprise me like you so often do. Don’t overthink it.”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “I think I’ll go have a word with someone about it then. No time like the present. Tyrion wants to hold a council meeting right now. Everyone else is on their way or already there and I wanted a way out of it so thanks for giving me an excuse.”

“Why is this the first I’ve heard about this?”

“Probably because I was the one who was tasked with telling you. And look - I just did.” He winked at her as he walked away, leaving her with a scowl on her face.

**********

Tyrion Lannister, commonly known as the Imp by people who didn't have his respect, noisily scraped a heavy chair against the stone floor with a grimace. Whoever had designed these didn't have a man of build and stature in mind. It was just one of the annoying things he had to deal with in his life. But he’d thought in battles (three at last count) so he could definitely beat a chair. Even if it was currently winning. The council room was empty save for him; he liked to be the first to arrive. Not because he felt that it was his duty - it was just entertaining to see the glare on Varys’ face when he realised he had been beaten once again. One of life’s finer luxuries. He was picturing what expression he’d wear today and became momentarily distracted. The chair almost toppled on top of him, which would have been incredibly embarrassing, but he was thankfully saved from his blushes by a hand stopping it just before it fell. He could tell who it was just from the heavily perfumed aroma that had arrived with him. Lavender today. He was mixing things up.

Varys, the Spider and Master of Whispers, smiled down at him sarcastically. They may have been friends but that didn't mean that they had to be kind to one another all the time. The days would grow boring otherwise, even with all the excitement that came with helping to rule the Seven Kingdoms. Tyrion dusted himself and nodded his head appreciatively in the direction of the other man, taking the opportunity to jump up onto the very chair had thwarted him so much. Varys took his seat further along the table, on the opposite side to the Hand.

“Political nuances and scheming lords you can deal with. But your skills are put into question when it comes to furniture.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly built for redecorating. Leave that to more competent people, like the warlock.” He reached for his goblet and poured some wine from a nearby jug. He was going to need it if Varys was in one of  _ those _ moods. The eunuch laughed drily.

“I never tire of your self-deprecation, Tyrion.”

“Good. Because it’s the basis of most of my jokes. Why jest about anything else other than one self?”

“Most people like to laugh and point fingers at others to make themselves feel better.”

“Since most people are too afraid to accept their own weaknesses. I’ve never had that problem. My family made sure that I knew what my failings were as soon as I came out of my mother.”

“And yet you are the last Lannister standing.” Tyrion raised his cup high in mock celebration, Varys toasting as well to be polite. “How does it feel?”

“Sad, obviously. No one truly wants to be the last one of their family. Although the majority of them deserved the fate that they ultimately became them…” His mind drifted to his sister, who he hoped was cursing him from the fiery depths below them. “...I’m still saddened by what happened to my brother. He wasn’t like the rest in the end, which got him killed ironically. It was if Fate said that they were doomed if they carried on their behaviour and doomed if they tried to grow as people.”

“Did Fate simply forget you?” Varys wondered, leaning forward slightly.

“I was just lucky enough that I had a dragon behind me to ward off any of Fate’s advances. Even gods are scared of those creatures and rightfully so.” He twirled his drink for a moment, watching as the red liquid sloshed around like a whirlpool. “At least Myrcella survived everything. No longer a true Lannister but safe in Dorne. Cersei hated me for it in the beginning but I bet she would be glad of my decision right now.”

“If she could ever have such warm feelings towards you.” 

They stood up as a group of four people entered the room, the other council members. Jorah Mormont, clad in gold armour, led the group. It had been customary for the leader of the Kingsguard (now suitably named the Queensguard) to wear a fine cloak with their armour but he had claimed he looked far too poncy in it and had promptly ripped it off. Grandmaester Marywn slowly followed him, the older gentleman the one who replaced Qyburn after he was forcibly removed from the city with no belongings. He often kept to his room deep inside the Keep but he enjoyed escaping from his workings for these meetings. Davos Seaworth was next, having hurried back to the castle with the Queen after he’d completed his task. He was visibly out of breath from rushing to get to the meeting in time. He’d never been built for too much strenuous exercise. The final member was Bronn, who had never expected to be sitting on this Council or any for that matter. Daenerys had struggled to find someone suitable for the role of Master of Coin, with Petyr Baelish, the longest former holder of that title, having run off to Bear Island a number of years ago now. It was Tyrion who had suggested that the former sellsword be given the job, vouching for his keen handling of money. The Queen had trusted him after an initial bit of concern but told him that, if they ran into heavy debt, she would be using his body parts as currency. She was awfully frightful when she wanted to be.

As they greeted one another as they sat down around the table, Jorah opposite Tyrion closest to the head of the table, Daenerys walked in. Hiding their groans as they immediately stood back up again, they bowed their heads at her arrival. It was what was expected since she was the crowned ruler now but it was still taking some getting used to. Jorah pulled her chair out for her, earning himself an affectionate smile, and she sat down with an expectant look at Tyrion. He looked at her in confusion. 

“Is Bruda not joining us?”

“He’s dealing with another urgent matter.” Davos knew what that meant.

“You gave him an excuse to get out of this, you mean?”

“...Accidentally. Sometimes, he talks so fast that I can’t keep up and that’s when he gets what he wants.” Tyrion pulled out a tattered scroll from his pocket which had the items they needed to discuss today. Daenerys arched an eyebrow at how long it seemed.

“Is there a lot to discuss today?”

“Not really,” came his reply. “Just more general matters to deal with. Bronn had a matter he wanted to bring up.” He gestured at the other man, who ran a hand through his slicked-back hair.

“I need some money, your Grace.” He had always been straight to the point, a commodity she enjoyed to see in all of her advisors.

“I was under the impression that it was, in fact, your job to resource money when we needed it.”

“I just felt that I should tell you first.”

“What is this for?”

“After you made me Lord of the Twins in the Riverlands, something that I am mightily appreciative of by the way...I noticed that you didn't leave much to rule over. No wonder the Freys were wiped out. It would always have taken something big to get rid of such a large family.” Daenerys thought back to the time when she had given into the fire and vengeance within her, punishing the Freys for their involvement in the attack of Dragonstone. She grimaced as she remembered the burning wreckage she had flown away from. 

“You said you always wanted a castle,” Tyrion commented. “What better feeling than to build your own from scratch.” Bronn was tempted to throw something at him but knew that it wasn’t the place to do so. Maybe when they left the room then.

“That takes a lot of money.”

“You shall have it,” Daenerys said straight away. “However much you need. The Crossing is an important element of the kingdom, connecting the North and South. We need it up and running as soon as possible. I’m sure that you will be able to move things around to make this manageable.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” He was slowly growing on her. He was the one member of her closest circle who she didn't know too well. She wanted to accept him properly. Tyrion looked down further the piece of paper.

“There’s another issue regarding money.”

“I’m starting to see that everything here revolves around money,” she complained.

“Sadly. The people have been asking when your tourney will be. It’s custom for a new ruler to have one in their honour and, with the kingdom relatively at peace, it’s a good time to have one.”

“Do I have to? I didn't think that I would simply follow the previous custom because it’s the expected thing to do. I wanted to change things.”

“And you will. But this is one thing that doesn’t need to be changed really.”

“Trust me, your Grace,” Varys spoke up. “If we are in need of money, this is a clever solution. People travel from all over the kingdom to experience these. Traders, merchants, people who want to spend the little coin they have. And it boosts morale, which is always a positive thing.”

“And it’s a way of building relations with the other noble houses,” Jorah told her. She looked in his direction.

“You think this is a good idea?”

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be.”

“Which houses would come?”

“Most likely, all of them,” Tyrion answered plainly. “The Tyrells obviously since they share a close bond with you. The Dornish house of Martell would be another standout. You haven’t really interacted with them before. It would be beneficial to do so.” Marwyn stroked the small beard that was growing on his chin.

“The Greyjoys have recently named Victarion as their new leader. It’s possible that he would travel here to take part and make his presence known. Although they have always been a people who like to keep to themselves.”

“And what of the North?” They knew what she truly meant. She was more focused on the Starks and their new leader, Sansa. Their relationship had grown to be frosty and tense after the war after the Northern woman had proposed the notion of the realm becoming independent, an idea that Daenerys was not in favour of. Tyrion nervously looked at the others as he formulated a response.

“It’s probably too far for them to travel for just a tournament.” She knew that wasn’t a proper excuse. 

“Jon Snow travelled from beyond the Wall for my coronation. Sansa Stark did not even do that. I’m sensing that she is not too pleased about my lack of acceptance about her...idea.” Davos leant forward.

“Frankly, her not being pleased with you is of little concern. Not everyone in the kingdom is going to be happy at you at one point in time.”

“I still want you all closely monitoring their situation. If any developments are made, no matter how small, I want you to run straight for me.”


	2. South and North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruda makes progress with an ongoing conundrum and, in the North, Jon and Sansa face differing problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, kudos and comments appreciated massively.

Bruda casually strolled through the busy streets with his destination in mind, already knowing the way without having to check. It was automatic now. That came with having to memorise its location before the attack on King’s Landing; he couldn’t forget it now even if he wanted to. He wore a hood over his head to cover his face in an attempt to be as inconspicuous as possible. It wasn’t the best policy to antagonise the public too much straight away with the reminder of his presence. He still kept receiving strange looks from people as he passed them by, men and women alike thinking that he wasn’t picking up on their furtive glances. He couldn’t tell whether they were staring out of suspicion, mild anger, or just curiosity. Whichever one it was, most people would have been perturbed by it happening so much. Bruda was thankfully more thick-skinned than that, trying to take it as a compliment. At least it meant that he was somewhat interesting, something he strived to be all the time. He then realised that the fact that he was walking with his staff made it pretty obvious who he was. He was allowed his slow moments at times.

He did pull his cloak back slightly as he turned around a corner and entered the shop he’d been looking for. It was boiling inside, the sweltering heat coming from the multiple furnaces that were being used inside. The sound of metal crashing against metal rang through the air and he was greeted by the man who ran this particular blacksmith. It was supposedly the best one in the capital, which was why they’d made it the base of the boy’s operations. It wouldn’t be decent to have him working for the Crown in the crowded shop he’d been in when Bruda found him the first time. The owner had a face covered in dirt and what he supposed was oil and one that was currently a rather bright shade of red due to the rising temperatures. The warlock guessed that his large build, apparent bulging muscles on both arms, and the rather dim-looking expression he always wore would have made him an imposing figure for most people to look at. They would never dare pick a fight with him. Bruda was no normal person though and refused to be intimidated. He’d made it perfectly clear the first time he’d met him in no uncertain terms. Bringing his staff was just a subtle but effective way of telling him who was going to be in charge of their interactions.

“Ah, Master Bruda. I wasn’t expecting you to pop by so soon after your last visit!” he greeted with a nervous smile, showing off his crooked yellow teeth. Bruda stopped himself from advising him to grin with his mouth fully closed from now on. The blacksmith’s eyes kept agitatedly shifting to the staff, wary that it could be used against him at any moment. It was very unlikely for that to happen but Bruda wasn’t one to waste such an advantage. He’d initially been hesitant about being called ‘master’ but the other man was more unsure about using the word ‘warlock’. It seemed to have negative connotations in local folklore. He didn't have the energy to complain about it too much.

“I’m a busy man. I’ve got things here that I need to check up on.” 

“Yes, yes. Of course. I guess this is to do with the boy.”

“You’d be correct in assuming that. I hope he’s being treated well here.” He’d heard of some of the tales about Gendry’s former employer so was making doubly sure. The blue flames at the tip of his staff brightened and became wilder for a brief moment, their light reflecting in the eyes of the now scared metalworker. It was a simple trick just to make his message stick in the man’s mind. He shouldn’t have enjoyed doing it. “It would be a shame to tell the Queen that that’s not the case. It would pain her to move all of her sword needs to another shop. I swear I saw one further down the street offering much better prices.” 

Thomas Pulver wouldn’t normally have stood for such an outrageous and obvious threat to his business. Usually, he would have retorted that no one managed to match him on quality for hundreds of miles and, if they wanted to take their coin to a cheaper option, he’d ultimately enjoy seeing their armour shatter in battle after a single hit. Thomas Pulver saw himself as a smart man however and he knew that voicing such opinions to the old man would likely have painful consequences. He’d asked the boy in hushed whispers about him and his face had gone pale at some of the tales he recounted of besting a group of five soldiers on the city walls. He chose to nod his head frantically.

“You made me swear to look after the lad and I’m a man of honour. I mainly let him keep to himself. He prefers it that way.” Bruda hummed pensively.

“Because he’s a sensible boy. It’d be a simpler world if some people stuck to their own company.” 

“I’ll have to take your word for it…” Master Pulver had no idea what he was on about but he’d learnt fairly quickly that it was best to agree with him when one was confused.

“May I?” Bruda gestured with his hand in the direction he knew where to find his target. Right at the back of the shop. Thomas nodded his head immediately and the warlock walked away without another word. He found Gendry smashing a hammer against the glowing edge of a new sword. Valyrian steel. He was making the most of the amount he’d been given from the Iron Throne’s wreckage. There was plenty of it. He felt that he could provide for an entire army from it alone. He noticed Bruda watching, placing it into a tub of cold water to cool it down. He wiped his hands on a stray piece of cloth for what good it would do and greeted the older man, who was busy poking some of the already finished works that were already hanging from the ceiling, the metal jangling slightly. He picked up and inspected a large helmet that had horns sticking out from it, nodding his head in appreciation.

“You’re here again.”

“Well spotted. Your observational skills are vastly improving. Congratulations.”

“You must be nervous about the project.” Bruda didn't like how much his observational skills had actually improved.

“I just want it done. How much have you done so far? You may have the blessing of Davos that got you this job in the first place but I’ll remind you that I far outrank him. Just a hint at what will happen if you mess this up.” Gendry ignored the threat, hoping that he didn't actually mean it, and removed a cover to reveal the base of a chair. It was black and gold, the colours weaving with one another to make a swirling pattern.

“I’ve been able to do the main structure of it. But I’ve been waiting for the details that you promised me before I get started on the sculptures.” Bruda handed him a piece of paper from one of the pockets in his cloak.

“I spoke to Queen Daenerys a short while ago. I jotted these ideas down on the way here so excuse the poor handwriting. These are just some suggestions. I’ll leave the finer things up to you.”

“I think I can make this work.”

“Don’t think. Just do.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then I hope you’re tasty. Her dragons can be quite particular when it comes to food.” Gendry grimaced and folded the paper, stowing it away for safekeeping. Bruda leant against the wall, studying the younger man. “I’m also here to give you another proposition.”

“More work? I’m pretty swamped at the moment, especially with what you’ve just given me.” The warlock held out a hand to stop him from talking.

“Not work.” Gendry gave him a confused look. “When you alluded to your history with Melisandre when we met, I didn't expect some of the details that I’ve discovered.” Gendry tensed, not knowing where this conversation was going. Davos had warned him of how protective the warlock got.

“Um...what did you find out? How did you find out any of it?”

“I asked Davos.” Gendry was going to kill him. “I picked up on some tension. I understand now why you may have reservations about her. Trust me, we didn't get along too well when I was first introduced to her. But I am working with you and doing more than working with her so I can’t have some unresolved issues hanging in the air.”

“So, what are you proposing?” He wished he hadn’t asked.

“You finish early most evenings, when you then usually go back to the Keep.” Gendry wondered how he knew that. Had he been spying on him? “You and her are going to spend some time together without killing one another. I don’t expect you to become friends straight away or ever for that matter. But Daenerys’ regime is about building strong bonds and I’m not being associated with two people failing at the mission statement.” He stopped the other man before he could argue against the idea. “Before you say no, remember that this is also my reputation on the line through association and I know you wouldn’t want me to suffer.” He arched an eyebrow as Gendry tried to form the correct response. When no words were uttered, Bruda took it as an acceptance. “Good. I’m leaving now which basically means I’m expecting you to turn up. I’ll give you a more precise time when I think of one.” And then he was moving out of the room, leaving Gendry with his mouth hanging open in a helpless fashion. He really hated that warlock.

**********

The snow crunched under his heavy boot as he trudged on. The sun was reflecting off the untouched glistening hills and mountains, pure white for as far as he could see. It truly was a beautiful landscape when you forgot about how deadly it was. Jon Snow had never expected to be able to come back here when he’d travelled back south, fighting in so many wars and battles that they often blurred into one. Opponents both living and dead, he’d come through against both. How he’d survived...he could not say. It was probably luck more than skill even if he had to admit he was fairly adept at wielding his longsword. All that mattered was that he had survived and now he could live as a free man for the first time in years. Not bound to anyone anymore. No longer a member of the Night’s Watch. No longer tied politically to a potential leader like Stannis Baratheon and Daenerys Targaryen. That wasn’t to say that he had overly disliked those years. Because of them, he’d formed strong bonds with a lot of people and did believe that Daenerys was the deserving Queen. But there was something different about living beyond the Wall. Understandably, there was no place like it on the other side, which was why the Wall was built in the first place, he guessed. You could live how you wanted, within reason of course. He still had to keep the wildlings as unified as they had been under Mance Rayder. Any positivity he had would always falter when he thought back to his former mentor, who had perished in the great battle of Winterfell against the Night King’s forces. He was the reason he was here. It wasn’t just about having freedom and being connected with people he felt close to...it was about respecting and honouring Mance’s past achievements.

The Free Folk had rightfully been thrilled when they returned to their homes. Because of the time spent away from them and the advances of the undead, they were often in a state of disrepair though. Work was being done on rectifying that, taking any resources they could find from the many large forests that littered the surrounding area. It was a good job that wildlings were built for heavy manual labour otherwise they wouldn’t have stood a chance of making enough shelters to survive the cold. When they had initially arrived, there had been quite a few grumblings...mainly just faint mumblings...that some people wanted to splinter off and form their own tribes like it had been once. Some claimed that they no longer required one another. After all, the war was won. The Others were defeated, wiped from existence - there was no way they could ever come back (they hoped anyway). Why should they have to share food with a large number of people when they didn't have a common enemy anymore? Jon had been forced to step in before it became too much of an issue or gained too much support, addressing the tribes. Their number had been decimated during the conflicts quite considerably but they still looked a formidable bunch when you addressed them on your own. He’d told them all that they were free to leave. He wasn’t going to stand there and force them to stay. He was there for a sense of freedom; he’d be a hypocrite to deny others the same opportunity. But he’d added a small caveat, pointing out that there was little chance of them surviving on their own. They’d all forgotten what it was like to live as small tribes after years of being one big group. Food would be as sparse as ever...surely it would better for them to ensure they actually got some, no matter how small a portion they received after sharing it out, than to risk not getting any at all. He’d been surprised at how closely they listened to him and the discord how slowly lessened to nothing more than whispers. Maybe fighting alongside them made them accept him in a way no one else had before.

The interesting development had been the Night’s Watch. He’d wondered whether it would still be in operation now the Night King was dead. Their purpose had primarily been to ward off those creatures so did they have a purpose anymore? Queen Daenerys had said yes. He was told that Tyrion Lannister had been the main source of vocal support for its continuation, stating that they still needed a place to send the worst of society. And there would always be creatures to keep away from the ‘southern’ lands, just not the wildlings anymore. Eddison Tollett, on the bequest of Jon, had become the new Lord Commander, also gaining the majority of the vote from the brothers of the Watch. He would be a useful tool in building a better relationship between the Night’s Watch and the Free Folk, something Jon was determined to do. He didn't expect there to be too much disagreement on that front from established members but the problem would arise when new people joined the Wall. They’d already had to face a few fights already, putting an end to them fairly quickly. Jon’s main tactic had been to point to sections of the Wall that were in ruins, stating that he knew the man, someone powerful called Bruda, who’d been the force behind the damage. If they continued causing trouble, he’d simply send a raven for him to ride up from the Capital. And it was such a long journey so there was no guessing how annoyed and angry he would be when he arrived. He didn't think that Bruda would mind too much that he was using him to scare people straight; he’d probably be quite pleased about it.

There was one man who wasn’t too pleased about the developments despite fighting with the wildlings. Alliser Thorne. He’d, ironically, been a thorn in Jon’s backside for some time and he had no clue how he had survived the battle. He’d hardly interacted with the sour man, forgetting that he even existed for a few blissful months. But then he’d spotted him working away on the Wall, helping rebuild one of the lifts, and Thorne had sent him a withering sneer, a common expression he’d saved for the bastard of Winterfell. Jon had smartly taken the high road, ignoring him before leaving to get back to the wildling community. He’d asked a few men about him, all of them informing him that Alliser Thorne still wasn’t willing to accommodate the Free Folk. It was a good thing that Tollett was Commander and not Thorne. But he was useful at training new recruits at least. Even the Devil could have some positive aspects.

Jon could see the camp up ahead, smoke billowing into the air from the many fires needed to keep everyone warm, if that was at all possible in these temperatures. Ghost plodded at his side, panting breathlessly. He’d enjoyed running through the forest, scaring any wildlife that was unlucky to be there at the same time. There was a large log on the ground just outside the camps, a large man with a scraggly beard sitting on it. He looked up as he heard Jon approach, not even flinching as the direwolf got close to him. He was one of the few who didn't seem scared by it. Sandor Clegane wouldn’t care to admit that he was a changed man but he was now a part of a large community for the first time in his life. He’d always been the outcast before Beric Dondarrion had shown him the way of the Lord of Light. He hardly believed in the God but it had been a way to connect to other people. It had been Dondarrion in sense, beyond the grave, who had suggested he go with the wildlings. The Hound was happy that he’d made that choice although he very rarely showed it.

“What are you doing out here?” Jon wondered.

“I sometimes I need a place to think. It’s always so crowded and hectic in camp.” 

“That normally tends to happen when there are lots of people together in one place. I thought that was why you came with us. To join in with that sort of thing.”

“A man can have conflicting thoughts, can’t he?” He still hadn’t lost his overall gruff demeanour. Jon put his hands up.

“I’m not debating that point. Trust me, I’ve had a fair few in my lifetime.”

“Short lifetime.”

“Exactly. So think about how much shit I’ve had to go through.” Clegane gave one short breath of laughter. “What are you thinking about?”

“I thought you were in charge of these people? That doesn’t involve trying to get inside my fucking head.”

“Part of the job is to try and make sure everyone is okay. You can deny it all you want but you’re a part of the group now. Maybe you could start acting like it from time to time. There’s something for you to think about.” Sandor was surprised at his tone. Maybe he was more of a leader than he gave him credit for. He watched the younger man continue on his journey, new thoughts swirling through his head as he did so.

**********

The castle and grounds of Winterfell hadn’t been so quiet for many a year. A few months ago, Winter Town had been transformed into a massive campsite, holding the thousands of soldiers that had pledged allegiance to Stannis and then Daenerys. As peace settled in the region, the tents disappeared. Most of the noble families went back to their ancestral homes, worrying about what state their strongholds would be when they returned. Others had travelled down to King’s Landing under a Targaryen banner; those houses she had vowed to remember for when she saw them next. That left the courtyards feeling strangely empty, no longer being as much of a hive of activity as it had grown to be.

Sansa Stark didn't know which she preferred. She’d wanted everyone to leave her home. It wasn’t theirs and they were ruining it, making it the centre of a conflict she had been dragged into. Well, she hadn’t fought in the war, running away with many others, but the point still stood. She’d looked forward to the time when she could walk around the grounds without having to weave her way through people who didn't show her the respect she rightly deserved. She wanted to even go to the Godswood for a moment's peace despite not being overly religious or devout in her faith in the Old gods. But she’d always been able to hear the shouts and cries of laughter. But now she was alone. The last Stark. Her father had been the first to perish in the game they played, Eddard being too noble to manipulate the rules in his favour like everyone else seemed to do. Then it had been her brother, Robb, and mother, Catelyn, slain by those they felt they could trust. At least the ones culpable for that had gotten their comeuppance. Rickon and Arya had been killed at far too tender ages, taken from the world before they could show what they were truly capable of. All of them now lay in the crypts below the castle, deep underneath the ground. She often visited their graves, looking at the likenesses of them carved into hard stone with tears in her eyes. Why had she been the one to survive? She wasn’t the bravest. She wasn’t the most skilled. She reasoned that she had just been a better player than them. She owed that to Cersei Lannister, the one good thing she could say about that cruel woman. Sansa had been made stronger by her constant callous remarks and the few helpful tips she gave out. 

She had expected Jon to stay with her at Winterfell. He wasn’t a true Stark even if she had grown closer to him when they were reunited. As the head of the house, she could have legitimised him if he’d wanted. She would have done anything to keep the last remaining member of her family with her. But he’d run off further North, claiming that he had to help the wildlings. Did she not need help? She’d never been a leader before and needed guidance. She had none. They could have ruled in the North together but he decided to chase some strange dream. She hadn’t given up on convincing him just yet. She knew that he would eventually come round to her side of thinking. 

The one thing that still troubled her with sleepless nights was the death of Bran. He didn't have a place in the crypts because there were no remains of him after the dragons had got to him and the tales that had spread of his betrayal meant there was no way that people would react positively to giving him a fitting ceremony. Jon had been the one to tell her why he had died, a far-fetched story of the Three-Eyed Raven being in league with the Night King that she struggled to believe. She had never been given any indication of that being the case. He had certainly become stranger when he returned, not being the same little boy she had left to go to King’s Landing. But he wasn’t this evil monster that people had been led to believe. What she knew for sure was that Jon had been convinced by the small group he had grown close to, Daenerys Targaryen and her queer assortment of advisors. It had been Bruda who had killed Bran too, which left with no doubt in her mind that they had wanted him dead for another reason. Now Daenerys sat on the Throne and Sansa was left all alone. Maybe that had been her intention. Weaken her so that she could not oppose her. She would be wrong in thinking it would be so easy.

She was sitting at the head table of the large hall of Winterfell, lost in thought. Soldiers lined the walls like they normally did although it was unlikely that an attack would occur. Maester Capaldi stood off to one side, his chains and links rattling whenever he moved. She didn't know what to make of him. He wasn’t as pleasant as Maester Luwin, the one she had grown up with, but he wasn’t entirely unpleasant. It was just that, for a man of the Citadel, he didn't mince his words. She appreciated having someone who was willing to speak his mind, even if she often told him to bite his tongue when they had guests. Now was one such occasion. A young woman was kneeling on the cold stone floor in front of her, the reason why her mind had drifted to her family and especially Bran. The torches flickered on the walls, their flames dancing and casting a myriad of shadows across the dark room. Despite the sun being up, it still struggled to penetrate the castle. Northerners didn't need the sun to survive, that’s what she had heard some of the men say. Sansa was clad in a black wool cloak, wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She peered down at Meera Reed, who had her head bowed respectfully. Howland Reed, her father and the ruler of Greywater Watch in the swamplands of the Neck, stood off to the side, having already paid his respect to the more powerful figure.

“This is a most pleasant surprise,” Sansa remarked. “We did not hear any word about your potential arrival until you were at our gates. Just you, with a small escort. It makes me wonder what your intentions are for being here?” Meera looked at the older woman.

“I...I heard about your brother. I wanted to pay my respects so I asked my father to travel with me at haste. I spent a great deal of time with him, helping him reach his destiny. I was heartbroken, my Lady, when news reached us. I wish that I had stayed during the war. Maybe he would be alive now if I had.”

“I doubt that he would have wanted that. I could tell that he cared about even if he had...changed.” She eyed her carefully. “You loved him.” Meera sputtered and a blush grew on her cheeks but she didn't deny the accusation, either because it was true or she couldn’t form the words to challenge it. Sansa held out a hand to ease her discomfort. “I understand. Truly. I have been in love at some time, no matter how foolish I was to be so. It makes one do anything for the other person.”

“You’re right, my Lady. Me and my brother...we truly believed in him.” That got her attention.

“What did you know about him being the Three-Eyed Raven?”

“That he had an abundance of powers that we could not properly understand. His life was intertwined with the Night King’s, a force that could ultimately stop his procession.”

“And what if I told you that he was not killed as a result of the Night King?” Meera’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“That would have me confused, my Lady.” Sansa stood up, her chair protesting loudly as it scraped across the floor.

“What if I told you that it was Daenerys Targaryen’s own advisor who killed my brother, the rightful heir of Winterfell, under some unsupported claim that he was, in fact, working with the monster you say he was destined to stand against?” The young woman looked appalled at the thought. 

“Why would they do that?”

“I don’t know. It might be possible that they spoke the truth and he wasn’t the man he said he was. But they still carried out no trial and conducted an execution with no one as witness other than those allied with themselves.”

“And you stand for such an injustice?”

“Not for much longer, no.”


	3. Boredom and Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In King's Landing, established relationships grow stronger as a new one begins to bloom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly slower, softer chapter. We can allow our favourite characters some good moments, can't we?

Tyrion perused through a stack of seemingly endless papers, wishing that the concerns of the people weren’t so numerous and completely tedious. It was late, the sun having set a good few hours ago, and he was still working through the day’s itinerary. Why was it up to him to deal with them all? He then remembered that he was Hand of the Queen and it was basically his job description. Try and clean up the messes that the kingdom was overflowing with before they became too large a problem that Daenerys had to actually get involved. She wouldn’t like that and he didn't want to fail her, mainly because he was enjoying his cushy life full of the many luxuries he had missed for so long. He had the finest wines available at a click of his fingers, which he was definitely making the most of. His bed could actually be referred to as such instead of the pile of rocks they’d given him at Winterfell. Northmen were truly bred differently if they could properly sleep on them. He practically shivered at the thought. Back then, there had been no need for comforts since they were preparing for war. He’d gone through it a few times now and understood what sacrifices needed to be made. That didn't mean that he couldn’t complain from time to time and then appreciate the finer things in life more when he was reunited with them. 

When he had first been a Hand, serving under his nephew Joffrey, the kingdom had been at war, which meant that he hadn’t had to focus on the smaller and more intricate issues that came with ruling over the realm. He said he served under Joffrey...he had made all the pertinent decisions, much to the annoyance of his sister, who saw herself as the more powerful person at the time. That was until his father had come along, won the battle in Blackwater Bay against Stannis Baratheon, and reclaimed his position as second in command. If Tyrion had known how entirely boring the job could be when there was now conflict to deal with, he would have presented Tywin Lannister with the badge with a song and dance, skipping along the corridor with a merry whistle as he escaped to freedom. He remembered being quite sad about losing the position. If only he could travel back in time. But then he quickly squashed those feelings, knowing that he wouldn’t trade all the misery he had gone through now he’d reached this point. The kingdom finally had a good and fair ruler, and he had survived. On the grand scheme of things, that was a pretty good outcome for the dwarf. 

It wasn’t as if it was always dull. Just being around Daenerys and her team of advisors was exciting enough, never knowing what the day would bring and how they all would react. They were a strange group of people so reactions could usually be varied, especially when it came to the warlock. He was slowly getting used to his peculiarities, if he ever could. He loved playing the political games that he was a main figure in, asserting his authority over those who were foolish enough to question him or the Queen. That included some of the people of King’s Landing but also Lords who had become far too high and mighty for his liking. One of his favourite pastimes was bringing them back down to reality. Varys was the master of doing it, using their darkest secrets that they thought no one could ever find out to manipulate and blackmail them. He admired the eunuch greatly, having been on the receiving end of his ungodly powers on several occasions, but he would never openly admit it. The Spider already had too large an ego (he was one to talk, he knew); there was no chance that anyone would survive if it grew any bigger.

He was surprised when a knock on the door came, making him question whether it was as late as he thought. He glanced out of the window and saw the bright moon hanging over the city and realised that it was. Curious and a little bit wary, he pushed off from his chair and walked over to the door. He was even more shocked when he saw Missandei waiting outside his room when he opened it. She had a nervous smile on her face and her eyes were struggling to meet his inquiring ones. 

“To what do I owe the honour of seeing you at such a late time? It’s been a while since we did this. I was worried that you’d lost interest in my conversation.” 

She smirked at the opportunity to tease him. “How could I lose interest in something that I was never fond of in the first place?” 

He placed a hand on his chest. “You wound me, Missandei of Naath. You have as sharp a tongue as your Queen at times.”

“I shall take that as a compliment.”

“It was intended as one. Are you going to explain your presence? Have you finally found the courage to kill me?”

“Don’t tempt me. Sadly not. I just couldn’t sleep. I’ve been struggling to do so really since we moved into the Keep. I just need to get used to new surroundings, I guess.”

“And you thought you would cure your insomnia by talking to me. Again, I try not to be insulted…” She laughed lightly as he moved out of the way to let her in. She perched on the edge of the armchair, watching him closely as he moved about the room. “Wine?” She nodded her head. She’d never had a sip before she met Tyrion and Varys. They were the worst of bad influences. She eyed the stack of papers and the dripping ink pot by the side.

“I was worried that you wouldn’t still be awake. It looks like work gets the better of you.” He handed her a glass, half filled. There was no need to rush her into it, he’d found after they’d done this so much. He always looked forward to the evenings when she visited, something he didn't have a concrete reason for.

“It’s mainly dealing with maintenance of Casterly Rock.” Daenerys had granted him one wish, to finally take control of the long standing seat of the Lannister family. He was finding it difficult to run from afar though so was planning on visiting in the near future. “But there’s also the grumblings of the townsfolk. Have you ever tried reading intently to the complaints of a farmer who has lost one sheep and is blaming it on the dragons? When said sheep was already on its last legs?” He tossed that piece of paper into the fire with a satisfied grin.

“I can’t say that I have. But, the last time I checked, that was a part of your job. I can go and inform our Queen that you aren’t entirely happy.” She moved to stand up slightly but he put a commanding hand on her shoulder.

“Let’s not be hasty. I am very content here. How could I not be when I get to spend time with such a beauty like yourself?” She couldn’t fight the blush that rose to her cheeks, despite hearing every compliment she could think of come from the man beside her. He enjoyed it when he managed to flatter her. 

“I think that you have had far too much to drink if you are saying such things. Not only are they entirely untrue, it’s also incredibly scandalous!”

“You do yourself a disservice. The finest wenches of the whorehouses could never match you.” She rolled her eyes.

“Comparing me to... _ those _ people isn’t one of your best moves, I might add. It just reminds me of the sort of women that you’ve solely interacted with in the past.”

“A man can change.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I haven’t had the want to go visit such establishments since Daenerys claimed the Throne. Or destroyed it. I don’t know why.”

“Maybe because you have seen what strong women are like and you now want nothing else. Your standards must have improved.”

“Strong women like yourself?” 

She started sputtering, caught off guard. “I...meant more like Queen Daenerys. Or even Melisandre, who the warlock is so fond of now.” He took a sip from his own goblet and cast a contemplative eye over her.

“You’re definitely in that category.”

“Carry on saying such things and I might start thinking that you have improper thoughts in your head.”  _ Was she flirting?  _ She couldn’t believe herself.

“Let me tell you, there has never been a thought in my head that wasn’t improper.” He clinked his glass with hers and winked at her. “I think this evening has got a whole lot more interesting.”

**********

Across the Red Keep, in a different dark corridor that looked the same as every other in the capital building, strange noises could be heard emanating from one of the rooms. Sparks and shouts, something repeatedly hitting the wall. The occasional mumble of annoyance, the rarer yell of glee. There were no guards outside this room as the inhabitants had said that they did not need defending in the slightest. If any assailant attempted to break into their bed chambers during the night with the sole goal of killing them, they’d end up going through a world of unthinkable pain. And they wouldn’t even be able to comprehend how they were suffering so much as magic so often confused the common people. And, even more so, the higher born of the kingdom. Everyone knew to stay clear of them if they didn't know them well because they were seen as strange and scary. They’d claim that they at least weren’t the latter. 

Inside the room, there wasn’t much inside. A large bed, a reasonably sized table and a wardrobe, which contained very few clothes. They didn't spend a lot of time in here at all (they much preferred being busy around the Keep, helping the council of the grandmaester) and it was much less common for them to try out different outfits. They’d found their style and were happy - why would they change something when that was the case? Space had been cleared so that they could continue with their one mission, which was Melisandre of Asshai, a former Red Priestess who had been tempted away from her belief in the Lord of Light, was standing next to the man who had done most of that convincing. Bruda was holding her arm gently, keeping it upright as she gritted her teeth. When she had lost her abilities after breaking her faith, the connection they’d shared allowed an essence of his magic to bind with her. It was just proving difficult for her to master the new powers but he was more than happy to help and guide her. 

As she concentrated, her thin eyebrows furrowed deeply, wisps of golden energy started to flow around the arm Bruda was holding. It became brighter and started to grow, reaching the edges of her slender fingers. Despite the effort she was having to put in, she did enjoy the new sensation of its feel. It was warm but not as hot as the fires she had once worshipped. The slivers of magical energy wrapped around her skin, not going any further than her elbow. The warlock gave her a reassuring nod of his head, his eyes connected with hers. She smiled slightly but he could see a sheen of sweat appearing on her forehead. If they were to make any progress, now was the time to do it before it became too much of a strain on her. The last thing he wanted was for her to pass out from exhaustion, something that had happened to the both of them on numerous occasions now, especially Bruda. Melisandre closed her eyes and the magic coalesced into a ball in her palm before it shot out towards the wall, connecting in the same place as before, which accounted for the rather large scorch mark that had previously damaged it. The beam of energy remained steady for a few seconds before she had to stop, growling in frustration as she flung herself onto the bed. Her red dress billowed around her as she did so. She hadn’t wanted to start wearing new types of clothing even when he had suggested she try some different colours. Bruda’s cloak was draped across the edge of the bed, his white shirt having its sleeves rolled up his arms. Melisandre looked at him with a frustrated expression.

“This is a pointless exercise.” Her accent was more pronounced than usual, probably because of her tiredness and annoyance. “How long have we been trying now? I haven’t been able to do it for longer than a few moments at a time! Maybe it’s not meant for me.” She shook her head. “We know it’s not meant for me. It’s your magic after all.”

Bruda sat down beside her, the bed lowering slightly. He fingered the necklace he had created for her, stroking the golden jewel at its centre. “I’ll have none of your complaints, thank you. It was always going to be difficult.”

“It shouldn’t be this difficult.” 

He didn't enjoy it when she was disheartened. When he had first met her, she had been one of the most self-assured people he’d ever come across. Sure, that had meant they had initially clashed with one another, not really seeing eye to eye, but it had also been the main reason why he had been curious about her. He could tell that, since embracing a new way of life, she was much more unsure about her potential. He couldn’t help but think that the blame for that lay at his old feet. He hadn’t voiced those concerns as she would probably choose that time to finally harness the new powers and use them to kill him. He had to stop himself from smirking at the image. “How can you know that? As far as I’m aware, no one has actually done this before. This may just be natural.”

“You have an answer for everything. It is often fairly irritating.” He could hear the affection in her voice as she said it though, knowing that he was helping her.

“It’s why you love me!” he countered playfully. A blush tinged her cheeks as she looked away. She hadn’t said that word to him, not yet. He hadn’t either since he knew that she wasn’t ready for that step. He understood what her life had been like previously so didn't expect her to be able to voice her emotions properly. She’d spent the majority of her life quashing any resemblance of those sorts of feelings so that she could more properly serve her God. He doubted that she would ever be able to say it and he was fine with that. Because he could tell how she felt, in the other words she used and her actions around him. He mentally rolled his eyes. Daenerys would tease him to no end if she knew that he could be so... _ soppy _ . He took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles softly. “Look. This may take a long time to figure out but you are making progress. You may not think it but I reckon that was the longest you’ve maintained it. And you know that I’ll stay here for as long as I need to so that you can learn.” He smiled and captured her lips with his, planting a quick but meaningful kiss on them. “You shouldn’t compare yourself to me because I’m just too amazing.” 

She hit him on the arm with a mock glare before resting her head on his shoulder. Her long red hair framed her face and tickled his neck. He looked down at her and was almost taken away by her beauty. He never had thought that he could feel like  _ this _ for someone other than Isabella but here he was, doing exactly that. He’d even admitted to loving Daenerys several times but that was different. He wouldn’t dare encroach on Jorah’s territory. 

“Once I can use this magic, I’ll make sure to shrink that ego of yours.” 

Bruda grinned. “And now I have you talking like succeeding is the only possibility.” Melisandre looked at him in surprise, realising that he was right. He truly was a man of wonders. “I shock myself sometimes with my own brilliance.”

“I can tell that Grandmaester Marwyn grows impatient with me.” She had started working with him in his office since she had a better understanding of foreign and eastern objects and substances, as well as having a working knowledge of the elements that were far from natural.

“Nonsense. I’ve explained the situation to him and he’s just happy to have your assistance. I bet having his job is a lonely position. He likes you.” He nudged her shoulder, noticing her raised eyebrows. “You’re going to have to get used to that, people liking you. For you, as well. Not because they have the same beliefs but because you’re a wonderful and beautiful woman.” 

She hated how often her cheeks became pink around him. “Can you control your jealousy if other men start liking me?” 

Oh, so she was messing with him? This was a side to her that he hadn’t expected to be so prevalent but one that he adored. His hand flicked with golden energy as he frowned, making his expression go dark. “They wouldn’t dare. I’ll scare them off.” She laughed at his comment, a sound that was one of his favourites. She was doing it a lot more. “But...about people liking you…” He lost all of his confidence and bravado when he saw her piercing stare as she tried to figure out what he was going to say. 

“What have you done?”

“Nothing bad! I’ve been seeing someone…”

Melisandre stood up angrily, magic beginning to form at her fingertips. He would have been proud if he hadn’t been so concerned. He realised what he said must have sounded like, wincing as he thought it through properly. 

“Not like that!” he quickly added, dragging her back down. “Do you remember a boy...or man now...called Gendry Baratheon?” It was her face that went pale this time as old memories resurfaced.

“What...about him?” She was incredibly nervous. She wasn’t exactly proud about her past and she didn't want Bruda judging her or being repulsed by her.

“He’s working in the city under the employment of Daenerys. He has some unresolved anger towards you for some reason.” She was about to explain when he put a hand up to stop her. Melisandre hated the cold look in his eyes. “There’s no need to go into detail about it. Davos told me what I needed to know.”

“You want me to leave then?” She stood up, heading towards the door. He frowned as he watched her move, having no understanding of what she was up to.

“What are you doing?”

“You know of the things I did to him. There’s no way that you would still want to be around me after learning such things.” He closed the distance between them quickly, kissing her with as much passion as possible, taking her breath away. She looked at him, dazed, when they parted, blinking slowly as she recovered.

“Everyone in this Keep has done some unforgivable things. Daenerys has had to kill people to get to where she is. Jorah sold slaves, which put him in exile. Davos was a smuggler. We won’t even go into Tyrion and Varys because we’d be here all week!”

“And what of you?”

“I’ve lived a long life. There were always going to be some dark points.” She wondered what he meant but left it for now, knowing that the time would come one day when he felt comfortable enough to divulge that piece of information. “The one thing that matters with all of us is that we have all tried to be better people, some being more successful than others. Would you say that any of us are inherently bad people?” 

She shook her head. “Of course not.”

“Then that’s what you need to remember. You did some awful things but you regret them. All you can do now is be better. That’s all I want.”

“Which explains why you have been speaking to the young Baratheon…”

“Because you’re going to do better. By spending an evening with him, talking things through without killing one another. It’s going to be fun!” She sincerely doubted that.

**********

Daenerys softly smiled as she leant on the balcony outside her room, looking down upon King’s Landing. Despite the late hour, it was still busy with people walking about and lights flickering within the buildings. She wondered what people would be doing at such a time at night and reasoned that she probably didn't want to know the full details. Some people wouldn’t have liked being forced to sleep next to a city that never truly slept but she often found it comforting; it reassured her that her kingdom was still surviving and flourishing even when she gave into slumber. She let her gaze wander, landing on the dragon pit. Her children would likely be asleep by now with a number of soldiers standing guard outside. That wasn’t to ensure their safety - it was more to keep any fools who thought they would get too close to the beats alive. The last thing she wanted was a scandal like that, which would sour the relationship she had been growing with the people.

She liked to roam the streets during the day, interacting with her subjects. It gave her security detail anxious moments, for sure. Jorah and Bruda had especially been against the idea, with it being so easy for someone to get near to her, kill her, and turn what progress they’d achieved to dust. She argued that wouldn’t be possible with so many of her Queensguard around her and, if she wanted people to not harbour such malicious feelings towards her, she had to show them that she truly wanted to help them. If she were being honest, she much preferred interacting with the lower born than the Lords of the kingdom. She had always felt that way. She felt a much stronger affinity towards them, probably because she hadn’t lived in the prosperity that her name would have owed to her if her father hadn’t been killed. She was thankful for that. She wondered what Viserys would have been like if he'd had access to proper luxury and entitlement. 

“Come to bed, Khaleesi,” a deep, gravelly voice sounded before her. She turned around still with the smile on her face and took in the sight of her knight. Jorah was clad in a simple shirt and brown pants, stripped of his usual armour because that wouldn’t be very comfortable in bed. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her figure, the curves of her body illuminated by the ethereal glow of the moon behind her. She was a goddess, that was the only explanation for her unquestionable beauty. No one else could make a blue dress look so good. 

“You’re impatient tonight,” she smirked with a knowing look. He had definitely become more relaxed since they had claimed the capital and she enjoyed seeing him opening up more. “Have the stresses of the day taken their toll on you, meaning you have an almighty need to...unwind?” She accentuated the last part with raised eyebrows, making it obvious what she wanted. 

“Stresses of the day? You’ve been inside the Keep all day where it’s impossible for anyone to touch you. If every day is like this, I will never die of an agitated heart.” She laughed as she sauntered over to the bed that he was lying in. She turned her back to him and he immediately moved over to her, undoing the few straps that kept her dress together. She shivered as he placed a couple of chaste kisses on her neck as he did so.

“You know that you can’t keep me locked in here forever, you know?”

“Can’t I? I’m sure Bruda would happily assist me.” She swatted at his hand in annoyance before spinning around again, letting the dress fall lazily. His breath caught in his throat.

“I would never undress in front of you again if you did that to me.” She knew she’d caught him there. Even a man as strong willed as her Bear wouldn’t be able to deal with such a great loss.

“You are a cruel woman sometimes, Khaleesi.” She bent down and kissed him on the lips, laughing as she did so. She crawled under the sheets, letting him place a protective arm around her.

“I would die of boredom if I stayed in here for the rest of my life.”

“I’m sure we’d be able to find something to occupy our time with.”

“Oh, I count on it,” she flirted back. “But, even now, after so many years of travelling to this point...ruling can’t match that excitement. I never knew that the everyday management of a city could be so...repetitive.”

“That’s why you have people to do that work for you. That is what your council is for. Are you having regrets?” 

Daenerys sat up, Jorah shifting with her. “Of course not! This has been my life’s ambition. But fighting slavers and monsters gives a woman a thirst for thrills.”

“You weren’t saying that when we were fighting those opponents.”

“That’s true. And now I can focus on making vast improvements to the kingdom. Making it more united than ever before.”

“The tourney will help with that.”

She groaned into his chest. “Do we really have to do that? Is the expense truly worth it, along with sacrificing my sanity.”

“You have travelled across many cities in the company of myself, an old warlock, a dwarf and many other strange peoples. If your sanity has survived that, I’m fairly certain that it can cope with a jousting competition and a feast.”

“I would want a portion of the townsfolk to be invited.”

“I expected nothing less. That’s why it is a good opportunity. You can appease the public by showing them glimpses of the luxury they strive for, as well as making the noble families believe that they’ll be a part of your regime.”

“Even though I have all the people I need already here.”

“Exactly. But you will always need their support.”

“In case the North decides to do something foolish.” Her mood soured at the thought.

“You shouldn’t worry about things that aren’t certain to happen.”

“It’s better to be cautious. I want invites to go to all the Northern families. And, it would be nice to have a wildling contingent there too. To say thank you for how much they helped us in the war. Say that we’ll even pay for their travel if needs be. Ser Bronn will be able to find the coin for that. Tyrion can send the ravens in the morning.”

“That sounds like a good plan. But that is for the morning and we’re currently living through the night.”

“Which means that we have spare time on our hands,” she said as she placed a lingering kiss on his lips, his hand running through her long blonde hair. Hopefully, the morning wouldn’t come for a while.


	4. Protection and Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davos learns what it's like to be a guardian as word of the tourney reaches the North

Davos walked through the hallway, his black cloak billowing behind him. He absentmindedly straightened the pin that was attached to it, a dragon wrapped around an onion. He had found it greatly amusing when Daenerys had presented it to him and also a perfect fit. Even when he had first joined Stannis’ ranks, he hadn’t wanted to abandon the sigil that defined him, despite his son’s strong arguments against it. Now, he could look back on the forces that had gotten him to this point, as well as looking hopefully towards the future. Hopefully, the latter held a lot fewer undead people and more time to catch up on his reading. He was still making progress with every passing day, under the struct tutelage of the young girl he was now a guardian of. It was getting to the point where he could read full books, which was especially helpful when logging the ships that came into port every day. He’d been pleased to see Quhuru Mo recently in the docks, an old ally of his. It seemed that the Eastern regions had a vested interest in the new ruler because of her past there, which meant that there was an increased abundance in the number of ships coming in from the region. He didn't know whether she would be happy with that - it brought much needed coin into the kingdom but it also meant that there was the chance for people who despised her for the changes she had enacted getting dangerously close to her. He’d like to see them try. If they managed to get past her Queensguard, an unlikely enough event as it was, they’d then have to deal with Jorah and then Bruda. The very definition of an impossible task. He was still meaning to bring up the topic at the next council meeting.

He was broken from his musings when a streak of wild blonde hair came rushing past him. He stopped and turned around, catching the sight of Shireen running in the opposite direction. He didn't think that she had noticed his presence since she was going that fast. He wondered what had prompted her to be in such a rush. Davos coughed loudly to get her attention and he smirked as she skidded to a halt. Her eyes were wide as she spun around, obediently walking back towards him but she still had a small smile on her face.

“And where do you think you’re going?” he asked pointedly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you move so fast.” Her excitement was infectious.

“Oh, I was going to meet Tom in the courtyard,” she replied, unable to meet his eyes.

“Tom? Why is this the first time I’m hearing of this  _ Tom _ boy?”

“Because I knew that you’d react like this.”

“Well, at least you have some sense left in you.” He scrutinised her, taking in the slight blush that tinged the half of her face that wasn’t affected by Greyscale. “What would you be doing with  _ Tom. _ ” He kept spitting out the name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

“We were planning on going to see the dragons! He’s ever so curious and he was incredibly jealous when I told him that I had flown one! It was going to be a short trip to the Pits. You wouldn’t have noticed my absence.”

“Of course I would have! It’s my job now to notice such obvious things.” He bent down to be at her eye level. “The city can be a dangerous place. Especially for a young woman like yourself. You should have told me what you were up to.” 

Shireen rolled her eyes playfully. “I can protect myself.” He scoffed at that and she shoved him slightly in annoyance. “I can! And no one would dare come near me or touch me.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because they know that, if they do, they’ll have to face you. And you’re one of the Queen’s closest advisors, which means you’ve got to be good with a sword.” He felt a quiet pride at that and wasn’t willing to tell her that that was far from the truth. He still had no idea how he’s survived so many battles thus far. “And, if that wasn’t enough, they know that I’m under the watchful eye of the old man.”

“How do people know that?”

“Because he shouted it out in the street the last time I went there. He said it was to scare off anyone who had dark motives, whatever they are.”

“You...were in the streets?”

“Umm…” She realised that she’d said too much. “Maybe.”

“And Bruda knew about this?”

“...maybe,” she repeated with a small voice. “But he was just as angry as you! And told me to tell you if I was doing it again.”

“Which you didn't do.”

“I’m telling you now,” she countered with a smug smile. He mulled over the risks of letting her venture out. He knew why she was doing it. It wasn’t just down to her love of the dragons. She’d never been able to live like a normal child up until this point and she was nearly a full woman grown now. She was making the most of it and  _ Tom _ must have been one of the first people to accept her, regardless of her name or the visible condition she suffered from. He couldn’t, in good conscience, take that away from her. Davos let out a long sigh, which she knew meant that she had won. Because she always did.

“You can go on this small trip.” Before she got too excited, he held up a hand. “But only if you take an escort of at least two soldiers with you. I’d prefer it if they were Unsullied too because then I can be sure of their loyalties.”

She threw herself at him, enveloping him in a tight hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” And then she was running off again, somehow with even more skip in her steps. 

“You’re growing even more protective of her.” He didn't know anyone had been watching the interaction. Daenerys, wearing a slim-fitting white dress, was standing in an alcove, moving from the shadows and into the light that was pouring in through the windows. They said that the Red Keep was a much brighter place nowadays since her arrival. 

“Your Grace...I didn't know that you were there.”

“I’m exceptionally light on my feet.”

“So it seems.”

She walked over to him, looking down the corridor where Shireen had just vanished from view. “It’s good to see you like this. I know that you’ve always been close to her but...it’s still nice to see your relationship growing.”

Davos bowed his head. “That’s all down to you. You were the one that allowed me to take over her guardianship after...you know. I’ll forever be grateful for that. I like to think that she's happy with it all.”

“Oh, I can tell that she is. Even if you act like you want to wrap her up in cotton forever.”

“If only I could,” he laughed. “I’d have a lot less to worry about.”

Daenerys placed a hand on his shoulder, comforting him. “She’ll be okay. She may fall down a few times but that’s not always a bad thing. I see a lot of myself in her.”

“If she turns out as half the woman that you are, your Grace, then I’ll be a very happy man.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Have you been learning flattery from Jorah and Bruda?”

“They said that it was a useful tool against you.”

“Did they now?” Her voice suddenly had a dangerous hint to it. 

“Let’s not tell them that I said that to you. I don’t know whether you’ve noticed but Bruda has quite a temper.”

“Which is why I and him get on so well.” She didn't let him suffer for long. “It can be our little secret. Now, the walk back to my quarters can be dreadfully dull. If you haven’t got much else to do, I would appreciate the company?”

“It would be my honour as always. Let’s just hope that those two don’t get too jealous.” Her laughter rang out through the stone hallway as they walked off.

**********   
  


The tent flap opened, letting a biting cold drift in just when they were starting to feel a modicum of warmth. The fire in the centre flickered and wafted and they were worried that it was going to fade out of life. They were thankful that it clung on and they sent a small glare at the young woman that had come in. Apart from Jon, who gave her an encouraging smile to let her know that it was alright for her to approach. Despite having been leader for a while, many of the wildlings were still nervous around him. He doubted that he’d ever be able to shake off that feeling of being an outsider. Tormund had complained that he was just being paranoid, which was a simple side effect of being a southerner. Jon always tried to argue that he was as much of a northerner as the rest of them, which was usually met with a barrage of laughter. 

He looked closely at the woman, taking in her surprisingly slender figure and wild mane of red hair. Although she was covered in thick fur clothing and her hood was still up from walking outside, he could still see the honey coloured eyes that were staring straight at him. He thought back to Ygritte, his first love; this woman reminded him a lot of her and he wished that it was a less painful experience. Even after so many years, it was still difficult moving on from the long dead wildling. For a time, he’d been able to distract himself with thoughts about Daenerys but nothing had ever transpired between the two despite his hopes and dreams. She handed him over a letter cautiously, the two never breaking eye contact. He hardly focused on what the note would be - it was unusual for them to get any correspondence but, at the moment, that wasn’t the mystery he wanted to solve.  _ What was under that jacket?  _ He hated how much clothing they had to wear past the Wall. For a young man, it was the bane of his life.

Then she was walking away, having fulfilled her duty. His eyes widened in shock and he tried to think of something to say. Why, despite having been through so many dreadful things that really should have made him more of a man than his years suggested, was he always so useless with the fairer sex? Robb had never had any issues but that was probably because of the weight his name carried. But even Theon had prospered in that department for some reason. Maybe Jon struggled because of the years he’d spent being referred to as the bastard of Winterfell. It would knock anyone’s confidence. He noticed her look back with a shy smile and he knew that he had to act. He stood up abruptly, making the others who were sitting on the circle of logs with him look up in anger at being disturbed, and gestured to the spit that was placed over the flames. They’d been lucky and had found a few rabbits, a glorious find for all of them in the local camp. 

“Um...you can...take a bit. That’s if...if you want,” he mumbled, hating how awkward he felt. But it was worth it when he saw her smile brighten. She nodded her head and sliced off a thin strip from the bone before heading back out, making sure to glance back one more time. For Jon, that had been one of his better first meetings with a woman. He could sense Tormund Giantsbane staring at his back and he really didn't want to turn around, not just because of the rosy tinge his cheeks had been coloured by. The wildling man had a broad grin on his face as he watched the younger man try and sit down as nonchalantly as he could. He kept looking at the now closed flap where she had just left longingly. If he’d been braver, he would have raced after her.

“Uh...what’s her name?” he asked as calmly as he could, hoping to sound all natural. He was sure that his voice chose that moment to break to increase his potential embarrassment.

“Which one?” Tormund replied, knowing full well who he meant. He wasn’t willing to make this easy on the poor lad. One of his favourite pastimes was torturing him.

“Her! Just then! She gave me this letter!”

“The one you were drooling over?”

“I...wasn’t drooling over her! I was just...being friendly, that’s all.”

“Is that what people call it nowadays? I still call it drooling. Your mouth is still on the floor.” Tormund’s enjoyment only increased when Jon sent a scowl his way. “If you want to know, her name is Oslen. From one of the smaller tribes. The Hornflower tribe to be precise. They’re small because they’re not as violent as the rest of us, which meant they kept to themselves until Mance brought us all together.”

“Oslen…” Jon whispered. It was an unusual name to be sure but he thought it was the most interesting name he’d ever heard. That was probably down to the face that accompanied it. Tormund peered at him curiously.

“You know...I bet she wouldn’t complain if you marched right up to her and took her right there and right then!” He finished with another roar of laughter, especially because of Jon’s shocked look.

“I wouldn’t...I would never do that to someone!”

“She’d be willing! The majority of women here are always talking about the hopes of fucking you! You just be blind and deaf if you haven’t noticed yet.” He hadn’t noticed. He was too focused on keeping the thousands of wildlings under his control alive.

“Why...why would they want that?”

“Because you’re the most powerful man here. Maybe not physically. Or even intellectually.” Jon rolled his eyes at the insults. “And I doubt you’d be able to keep up with a wildling woman in bed.”

“I did with Ygritte!” It was one of the few times he’d spoken about her openly. He expected it to hurt more than it did. Maybe it was time to start moving on properly. This Oslen would definitely help with that.

“She was probably going easy on you because she liked you for some reason.” Tormund tore into a rabbit leg, some of the juices dripping down his bushy ginger beard. Wildlings weren’t too fussed with manners.

“Can we just...stop talking about this?” Jon almost whimpered. Tormund’s attitude towards women was completely different to his. He couldn’t bring himself to talk about that topic freely without inhibition.

“Maybe. If you can promise that you’ll go find her after this.”

“Why are you so bothered?”

“Because you can be a right miserable bugger at times and being with a woman will sort that out.” Jon slowly nodded his head, again directing his attention to the entrance. Tormund just shook his head. “Fine then. What’s the letter about?”

Jon had hardly paid any attention to it. He looked at the unbroken wax seal and began to smirk. A dragon. He quickly opened it up and scored over the neat scrawl. It was from Tyrion. He would have known even without the signature at the bottom. It started off with the general pleasantries, inquiring as to how he was doing and whether the Free Folk were coping with a return to normal life. It was good to hear from him and be reminded that those he’d fought with hadn’t forgotten him just yet.

“Fancy a trip down south?” he asked excitedly. 

“I’d rather lose a foot to the cold.”

“What if travelling south meant you could show how good you are at knocking ‘stupid southerners’ off their horses?” That made Tormund sit up straighter and he snatched the letter from Jon’s hand.

“What the fuck is a tourney?”

“A competition. There’s jousting and sword fights. It’s all about young lords trying to gain honour and impress the new ruler. All done to celebrate Daenerys’ taking of the throne. Just imagine what a spectacle you’d cause if you won some of the events.”

“I don’t know. It seems like a bloody long journey for some pointless games.”

“There’s also going to be a feast. Even larger than the one we had at King’s Landing the last time.”

Tormund looked at the relatively meagre rabbits cooking away then back at Jon. “How quickly can we get there?”

**********

It was a rather splendid day across King’s Landing weather wise, the sun beating down on the city. Everything seemed much more pleasant because of the relatively warm temperature, with even the darkest of alleys becoming slightly more welcoming (it would still be foolish to walk down one without some form of protection though). Grandmaester Marwyn had come bearing news during their latest council meeting, claiming the high maesters of the Citadel in Old Town believed that Winter was coming to a premature end. It certainly meant that it wasn’t the longest on record but it had probably been the toughest on the people, especially those who had seen and participated in what Winter was truly about. Bruda had joked that that meant he could go now since his namesake was reaching its end. The reminder of that specific revelation was still a sore spot, more because of what had come immediately after rather than any residual anger remaining. Daenerys had warned that, if he dared even think of leaving the city, she’d hunt him down with all of her power. He claimed that, if she failed in that mission, Melisandre would certainly do the dirty work.

They were all happy that Spring was on its way. It was a time of new beginnings, which sparked a renewed hope within all of them. It also symbolised what Daenerys was wanting to achieve in her new regime. She’d repeatedly mentioned the want to ‘break the wheel’, rectifying the wrongs she thought were prevalent across the kingdom. Spring was the perfect opportunity to do this since it meant there were more resources at hand. People with more food in their bellies were more willing to accept changes. That was a simple fact. They were already seeing a vast improvement in the streets of the capital - the food markets were selling much more produce, which increased the amount of revenue coming in, which increased the amount of coin people would be willing to spend on food. It was the most blissful of cycles.

Varys was walking around just outside of the Red Keep, where preparations for the fast approaching tourney were being made. He was dressed in a long green robe, red flowers embroidered onto the silk, with his arms folded as he walked. His face was freshly powdered and he was smelling of lilac. One had to look their best when they were out and about. It was an unspoken rule that he closely followed. He stopped as he watched a young boy raising a flag that bore a fearsome dragon on it, trying to attach it to a golden pole. He looked across the well maintained patch of grass he was on, stroking the white fence that would divide future jousters. His mind wandered back to the last events he’d seen like this, King Joffrey’s name day and the newly appointed Hand’s tourney, something that Lord Eddard Stark had strongly been against. It felt like they had occurred in a different lifetime. It was true that they had taken place several years ago but that was beside the point. The Realm had changed since then, which was one of the most obvious statements he’d ever thought of. He wished he could say that he had changed profusely over the course of the trials and tribulations he’d been through. He liked to say a lot of things and they were often just as untrue as that statement. Spiders didn't change, they adapted. It was a slight difference in semantics but he thought it was a clever analogy. He was still a man who worked in the shadows, apart from right now where he was clearly visible in broad daylight, manipulating truths to maintain the stability of the kingdom. Never himself. Always the Realm. He was just doing this on the behest of a different ruler now, one he much preferred that the previous examples. He straightened the pin on his robes, a metal spider seemingly fighting a dragon, to signify that  _ adaptation _ .

“Will you straighten that flag, boy,” he ordered as he glanced back at the young worker. His efforts so far had left much to be desired. “Queen Daenerys may be a tolerant and merciful person but I am decidedly not.” The poor lad nervously nodded his head and saw to it that the improvements were made. Varys could have chuckled. It was always easy for him to make lasting impressions. No doubt, he would soon have a new little bird to add to his collection. It was taking a while to restore his network to its former glory. A war against the undead would always cause havoc to established systems.

“This is the last place I expected to see you,” a voice shouted out from somewhere. Tyrion was heading in his direction, flanked by Bronn. Despite now being the Master of Coin, the former sellsword still preferred to wear chain mail and armour just in case, always keeping his hand close to the sword hanging from his belt. It explained why his pin was a sword and a dragon. “Are you thinking about entering? Because, if so, that’ll give me the edge on other watchers and I think I’ll make a pretty profit from betting against you.”

Varys plastered on a fake smile as he absorbed the insults. He’d heard much worse. Maybe they truly were becoming close friends after all the time they’d spent together. “I’m afraid I’m not. I couldn’t possibly match your prowess in combat. There’s no need to embarrass myself publicly.”

Bronn nodded his head, smirking at the interaction. “Aye, he’s a mighty fine soldier. How else could explain surviving so many battles now? It can’t just all be down to luck, can it?”

“Thank you, Bronn, but I’m in no need of your services as a flatterer,” Tyrion waved away. “You didn't even do such a thing when I was paying you.”

“Because you could have been paying more. Now I’m in control of the money for once. It’s always lovely to see the world do right by those who have done no wrongs. I’m a dying breed.”

“And here I was, thinking that Lannisters were the ones with a reputation of spending lavishly,” Varys commented. “I trust that you’ll see to giving yourself a raise soon enough?”

“If our gracious Queen doesn’t notice. Or that warlock. He’s the one who scares me the most.”

“It’s good to see that you have some sense left in you,” Tyrion jibed. He looked back at Varys, eyeing him suspiciously. “Now, are you going to explain why you’re out here, Lord Varys?”

“Am I not allowed to venture outside of my private chambers?” the eunuch responded evasively. 

“You shouldn’t be. Because it normally means that some poor soul suffers. And that soul is usually mine.”

“I was just admiring the work that’s going in to make this tournament ready in time.” They began walking along the grass, occasionally getting curious looks from the workers and any common folk that were loitering around, hoping to catch a glance of the powerful. “It’s a satisfying sight to see the Realm come together.”

“Hopefully all of the Realm will benefit from this. Including the North.”

“Have you had any word back from the families in that region?”

“Are you saying that you  _ don’t _ know, oh Master of Whispers? You’re slacking. I’d hate for our queen to discover this.”

“I’m merely giving you the courtesy of letting you tell me what you know. Your one skill is gloating. Don’t grow shy now.”

“He’s got you there,” Bronn said casually, picking up an apple from a cart and slicing a piece off with his dagger. 

“To be truthful, there’s been limited responses so far. I’m told that the wildlings are excited to be coming, which will be something else to deal with indeed. But they’re not under the influence of Winterfell. Unlike the lords and ladies up there. I’m sure they’re waiting until Sansa Stark makes her decision. Something she’ll probably leave until the very last minute as a power ploy. Because she thinks that she’s a leader.”

“We know how strong a young woman can be from first hand experience,” Varys pointed out. “We can’t underestimate the power she currently has, even if the region was badly damaged in the war. So what if there was a way of symbolically uniting the throne with the North? Before fractures become too great and unsustainable.”

Tyrion quirked an eyebrow. “How would you propose we do that? Send them a gift basket?”

“How would one normally go about bringing together two houses?”

“You can’t mean...marriage?”

“What else?”

“You do know who we’re talking about here, right? That blonde woman with dragons who is fiercely independent. And also madly in love with her knight. She wouldn’t even think about marrying anyone.”

“Apart from the knight she is madly in love with. Who happens to be from the North.”

“Would that even work? He’s not exactly got a good reputation after what he did.”

“He’s still a Mormont. That name carries weight in the North and the fact that our Queen is so close to him would hopefully dissuade them from joining a force against us.”

“She wouldn’t want to lose any power to him.” Tyrion wasn’t too excited about this proposal. He was actively hoping to stop a  _ proposal _ . “Which would invariably happen since he’d been seen as the king.”

“Maybe in the old way of thinking. Daenerys wants to change that though. What better way than to make the people realise that a Queen can be more powerful than her husband?”

“You can be the one to suggest it.”

“Don’t be absurd. She’d much prefer to hear it from the warlock or the knight himself. I’m Master of Whispers. Not outright talking. But surely there’s much worse ideas for her to agree to.”


	5. Confrontations and Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past returns to the forefront of people's minds as unwanted reunions take place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm enjoying the return back to this story. I hope you're loving it too. If so, comment below, hit the kudos button and follow me on Twitter @matthewholmes45

Bruda was incredibly nervous. He was sitting on a cushioned bench, staring out of the window as he waited. Always waiting. He remembered the days when he could do what he wanted when he wanted. Being in the Red Keep and a part of the Queen’s council involved a lot more need for being patient than he’d first expected. But their visitor had been reminded to be on time! Why wasn’t he on time? He then realised that it was likely only a minute had passed after their set meeting time. He was just apprehensive. He really wanted this interaction to go smoothly. The evening had come for Gendry Baratheon to have a much needed talk with Melisandre. Two people who he knew would end up being totally stubborn in their beliefs. His role was to be the mediator, if he wasn’t allowed to leave the room. What if they threatened to kill one another? He knew it was an unlikely outcome but his mindset was leaning towards the worst possibilities imaginable. Melisandre wasn’t completely in control of her powers yet, despite slow and steady progress, which meant, if she lost control of her emotions, the results would be unpredictable. How would he go about explaining to Daenerys that one of the rooms in her castle had suddenly exploded into a nasty ball of flames? And Gendry was a formidable person, well built and strong. Sure, it’d be simple for the warlock to stop him with a wave of his hand but it would truly pain him to do so.

Melisandre was leaning on the edge of the bed, watching the door. She hadn’t moved for at least ten minutes now. He was growing worried about her as he looked at the impassive expression on her face. He understood that it was bringing up a plethora of dark memories for her. Past actions that she was now ashamed of and ones that would be difficult to talk about. But he also knew that the only way for her to move on from that part of her life, whilst owning her mistakes, would be to discuss them with one of the people she had hurt the most. He was glad that he could stand by her side as she did so, providing a small bit of comfort, even if he’d preferred to be reading one of his books. When he’d said that thought out loud (one of his most poorly thought out ideas, he realised), she angrily reminded him that this had been all his idea. 

“You’ll be fine,” he reassured her. He’d said this a number of times now, more to quell his fears than hers.

“You can’t know that.” That had been her response every time so far. He’d contemplated talking about something else but he didn't really think it would help. He moved over from his seat and knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. He audibly groaned as he bent down. It really wasn’t the best position to be in at his age but she was worth the discomfort and fairly considerable pain.

“I know that you’re scared. Facing our past is often the most difficult thing we can do. Because it makes us admit that we weren’t always as perfect as we could have been. But you need to realise that you’re not doing this on your own. You’ve spent so many years being a solitary figure so it’ll take time for you to adjust to this new way of life. If it helps, I’m in the same boat - I spent decades on my own. I think. Time always gets away from me.” His words had the desired effect as she allowed a smile to slip onto her face for a brief moment.

“What if he doesn’t want to forgive me?” 

Bruda nodded his head in understanding, realising what she wanted out of this. She wanted a clear conscience. She wanted to be accepted by this new group of people. But it would never be easy. “I’ve got to be honest with you here. He probably won’t.” She looked away from him and he had to redirect her face with his hand, forcing her to meet his intense eyes. “You did some awful things. I’d actually be surprised if you came out of this as friends straight away. You can’t go through life expecting forgiveness all the time. Sometimes you just have to accept that you admitted how wrong you were and the other person was at least willing to listen to you.”

Their heads snapped up at the sound of a knock at the door. Any progress Melisandre had made at steadying her nervous energy dissipated. She straightened out her dress as she stood up, having to help Bruda up. His knees cracked loudly, as did his back, but he was the one who opened the door. He smiled when he saw Gendry standing there, his eyes shifting about. This was the last place he wanted to be but the warlock had brokered no argument and he knew he’d hunt him down if he didn't show up. He’d still thought about that plan’s merits for quite a while. 

Bruda moved to the side to let him in. The young man immediately locked eyes with the former Red Woman (he noted she still wore an awful amount of red, which just made him doubt that she had truly changed in the slightest). She sent him a pained smile, not knowing what else to do. Gendry kept to the corner of the room, as far away as possible from her just to be on the safe side. Keeping distance between them was definitely the right policy for the time being. Bruda picked up on his awkward nature and gestured to a chair in the corner - they’d asked for a pair to be brought up for this occasion so that he’d be more comfortable.

“Drink?” he asked the blacksmith, who shook his head. He didn't want one because he knew he needed to keep his wits about him, ensuring she couldn’t play any tricks on him. He was constantly keeping his gaze trained on the woman in the room, making sure she couldn’t get closer to him without him knowing. Bruda poured himself one, amber liquid flowing into a short glass. He looked at the two of them, downed it quickly, and then hid all of the glasses from view. It was best to keep all possible weapons out of reach where possible. “Okay then...any opening remarks?” He specifically eyed Melisandre, wanting her to make the first leap. 

“Gendry...ummm...Lord Baratheon…” She was all flustered and she positively hated that.

“I’m not a lord,” he instantly said. At least he was speaking. It gave Bruda an idea that he would bring up with Daenerys the next time he saw her. “You can call me Gendry.” 

She allowed a small smile to appear when he said that. It was a positive sign. “Then call me Melisandre.” He nodded his head after a beat. “How...has work been today? Bruda has told me that he has you commissioned making something truly remarkable.”

“I don’t think I’m here to make small talk,” he replied with an edge to his voice. 

“No. I guess you’re not. Bruda wants us to discuss what happened between us at Dragonstone.”

“You mean the time you seduced me, tied me to a bed and then put leeches on me to suck my blood out of me?” This conversation was taking a downward turn.

“...yes.”

“The time you violated me? The time you only saw me as a tool for your own ends, not an actual human being?”

“...yes.”

“Is that all you can say?  _ Yes _ ?” Maybe he could do with a drink, now he properly thought about it. Too many bad memories were resurfacing.

“I can say that I am truly sorry for what I did. I know my apology won’t reverse what happened or take away the trauma you suffered.”

“You’re right. It won’t. Which is why I don’t see any point in us discussing this or even spending time together at all.”

“Because I want you to know that I have changed. I’m no longer a follower of the Lord of Light. His magic no longer courses through me. I know that sounds like I’m making an excuse for my actions but that isn’t my attention. It’s just my way of assuring you that I’m no longer the same woman.” She looked at Bruda when she said that with a warm expression. Gendry could tell that that meant he was the reason why she had made these improvements.

“How can I be certain that you’re telling the truth though? You might just be saying these things as a new way of manipulating people. That’s what you always did. You did it with Stannis, messing with his head.” Although she had done those things, it still hurt her to hear him say it.

“You can’t. Not immediately,” Bruda answered.

“The only way I can prove to you that I mean what I say is for you to see me improve over the next years. Maybe then, you’ll realise that I want to change. Hopefully I will have by then.”

“You already have,” the warlock said strongly, sitting by her side.

“I won’t...I can’t...forgive you. I know that’s what you really want but I don’t think it’s going to be possible. No matter how long we spend together, no matter how many nights we have like this.”

“Does that mean you would be open to doing this again? Not for a while. I don’t want to push things too quickly.” Bruda gave him an encouraging smile.

“It could be...possible.”

“I understand,” Melisandre said softly. “It was unrealistic of me to think that you...could move on so quickly. The only thing that I can promise...how much this will ease your soul, I don’t know...is that no one else will suffer like you. Because I can see now that the day is bright and full of wonders.”

**********

“Open the gate!” a patrol soldier shouted across his section of the Wall as a loud horn was blown, two blasts, prompting several of his brothers to leap into action. Any arrivals were cause for excitement since not a lot had been happening at Castle Black for some time but this was going to be an especially intriguing one. Wildlings, led by one of their former brothers. The new Lord Commander had informed them that he was expecting their visit, having been sent a raven beforehand. Eddison Tollett was happy and relieved that they had thought to give him some warning because it gave him a chance to prevent any unnecessary confrontations that could happen. He’d threatened to reduce the portion sizes for anyone who provoked their temporary guests; targeting their food was often the easiest way of scaring them. Men of the Night’s Watch usually placed a full stomach above their lives. He understood that feeling more than most of them, thinking that the conditions were much better now than when he had first joined. 

The thick iron gate rose slowly as the riders ventured inside, being dwarfed by the massive structure. Their torches lit up the tunnel, haunted shadows dancing along the walls as their horses proceeded onwards. As they all made it in, the first gate lowered again, sealing them in. For the more seasoned wildlings, this was the tensest moment of arriving here. They were effectively trapped until the inner barrier was opened. Before the war, the two groups had been fearsome enemies despite there being very few differences between them all more often than not. The thought of a member of the Free Folk getting to the wall would have instigated an all out battle a few years ago now, which was why they were still apprehensive. Old habits died hard. It was proving to be Jon’s most stubborn challenge to fix. Thankfully, they were permitted entrance with only a small delay. He smiled at the young man who was on patrol duty, vaguely remembering him from his time here although he couldn’t place the name.

He’d only brought a small group with him. He decided to keep Ghost back at the camps, knowing that direwolves and the capital didn't have a good relationship in the past. Tormund was his right hand man, as was expected. He just wanted the chance to teach the southerners the true art of fighting but also mainly the art of eating and drinking. The others were former tribe leaders wanting to prove their skills to the new ‘King Beyond the Wall’ (Jon had vehemently argued against being given that title but most of the wildlings still referred to him as such, much to his chagrin). He’d asked whether Sandor Clegane wanted to travel with them. His response had been fairly straight to the point and language that Jon balked at. “ _ The last thing I want to do right now is to go back to that fucking place that reminds me of that fucking boy who I had to fucking protect for too fucking long. Does that give you your answer, Snow? _ ” Jon had promptly nodded and left his tent. The Hound would always be a terrifying man even if he was mellowing out. If one was to say that to him, he would prove to that stupid person who truly terrifying he could be. Jon had contemplated asking Oslen whether she would want to see the south too. He’d then realised that that would be the worst idea ever known to man because he was still yet to talk to her. He didn't have a clue what to say and he didn't want to make a fool of himself. The best option was to keep his distance so that she continued to be intrigued by him, eventually forcing herself to make the first move. That would definitely work. Tormund had spent the majority of the journey so far endlessly teasing him because of his apparent ineptitude.

Their mounts trotted into the wet and muddy courtyard, all eyes firmly trained on them. They were probably more cautious about how some of his convoy were wearing bones around their necks. They may have only been separated by the Wall but their cultures were vastly different, something Jon was growing to be accustomed to. He was the first to dismount, landing heavily on the ground. He brushed himself off as Tollett approached him. The Commander was clad in a large fur coat that dwarfed the scrawny man. Jon remembered having to wear it himself. His greasy, long black hair hadn’t changed; neither had the short scruffy beard that hid some of the many scars on his face. He wasn’t the most attractive of men but that went for a large percentage of the Brothers. He did have a rare smile on his face though as he walked over before the two of them embraced in a tight bear hug. They’d been through a lot together, most notably the battle at Winterfell, so it was only natural for them to be fairly close even if such intimacy wasn’t the norm at the Wall. After Sam had died, he was probably his closest friend from the Watch.  _ Not friend. Brother. Forever brothers. _

“I’m surprised at how good it is to see you,” Tollett noted with a laugh.

“How long has it been? No more than a few months!” Jon replied. They were quickly falling into their normal easy conversation.

“You know how slow time passes up here. A day can seem like a month most of the time.”

“Still that bad, huh?” 

“Ah, I can’t complain really. I get the best private quarters here. Thanks for that by the way.”

“That wasn’t down to me. You were the most suitable choice for Commander.”

“Even so, people would hardly have known who I was if it wasn’t for you.”

“I’m sure you’ve been showing them all why I picked you.” Their horses were led away to be fed and watered, as well as cleaned. Eddison directed them towards the dining hall and they were grateful for the warmth that greeted them inside. Some of the Brothers already inside moved away as they entered, uneasy around the wildlings. They were the ones who hadn’t interacted with them before. Jon guessed that it was a natural reaction for those who were uninitiated but he was still slightly disappointed by it. His goal was to end the obvious animosity. They sat along a table, Jon and Eddison at the closest end with the wildlings filing further down. Drinks were handed over and scraps of meat and bread. They began to hungrily wolf it down.

“You know me so well. They know not to cross me.”

“How’s the situation been? Any trouble?”

“Not a lot. Mainly because the food situation has been surprisingly good. I’ve been discussing things with the new maester and, with Spring fast approaching, we’ve started utilising the Gift to grow more resources. Saves us coin as well.” The Gift was a large, uninhabited piece of land just south of the castle. It had been abandoned for some time, mainly because of the bigger priorities they’d had.

“Smart. Well fed brothers are happy brothers.”

“Why are you coming this way? You didn't mention it in your letter. Are you already fed up with the wild life?” 

Jon leaned back with a smirk on his face. “We’ve been summoned. By the Queen herself. We’re going to show up the best in the kingdom at what they do best. Pretending to fight.”

“You’re really bothering with that? Waste of money if you ask me. We could do with that up here. Put in a good word for us to your precious queen, won’t ya? Otherwise, you might find it more difficult to get past the Wall the next time you’re here.” The wildlings by Jon’s side tensed up at his words, not realising that he was joking. He put a hand up to reassure them before something untoward happened.

“I’ll see what I can do. You know how much she appreciates you after we fought together. She’s not one to forget such a thing. If you need money or men, I’m sure she’ll be cooperative.”

“We don’t need more men. I mean, it’s nice to have a strong force...just in case something happens again...but the more men we have, the more money we need. Coin first, mouths later. Understand?”

Jon nodded. “I’ll say it just like that. And, don’t forget, she’ll owe me something once I win her tourney.”

Tormund almost spat out his drink when he said that. “Are you being serious? The wall will melt before you beat me at anything!”

“Maybe you could ask her to donate one of her dragons to us. They’d help with hunting.”

“You wouldn’t be able to control one,” Jon remarked. Eddison scowled before the door banged open. An old figure appeared, one that Jon wasn’t too thrilled to see. 

“I thought I could smell a bastard,” Alliser Thorne said loudly, attracting their attention. Tormund immediately had his hand on his blade. Thorne had hardly changed. His brown curly hair was considerably greyer than when they had last seen one another but everything else was the same, down to the cruel smirk on his face. Jon stood up to greet him, never one to forget his manners. 

“Ser Alliser. It’s good to see that you still have your boisterous nature.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Snow?”

“That I’m glad to see you.” That stumped the master-at-arms.

“...you are?”

“Any man who fought by my side against the White Walkers is a man who I have to respect, however much that begrudges me.”

“Have you finally learnt some respect? I wouldn’t have expected  _ them _ to have been the ones to give you that lesson.” He looked pointedly at Tormund and the rest of his party.

“ _ They  _ fought with you too. Isn’t it time for you to appreciate that?”

“They did it to survive. Not because of a love for us.”

“And, now we’ve survived, it’s down to us to create a better relationship. You could be a crucial figure in helping us achieve that.” Jon was hoping that the brief pause of silence indicated that Thorne was thinking about it but he then started walking back towards the door.

“I think what will help create a better relationship is you getting out of here as soon as possible.”

**********

Bruda ambled along the corridor, staff in hand, as he thought back to the previous evening’s events. Gendry hadn’t stayed very long. He hadn’t expected him to sleep over but the short duration did leave him with an unsettled mind. In truth, the conversation between the blacksmith and Lady Melisandre had gone more smoothly than he had expected. There was still a certain animosity between the two, mainly on the side of the young man, but there was good reason for that. The changes she had gone through couldn’t be suitably described to a person who didn't have a full understanding of the inner mechanics of magic. Even people who understood magic would be baffled by it. The closest they had to someone whose eyes didn't bulge when they discussed it was Marwyn but that was down to him being simply curious about the topic. Gendry wanted physical proof of her changing her ways and that was what they would seek out to do. He just had no idea about how they would accomplish that. Save a sick child? Free a caged animal? Bring about a prosperous harvest? No. Bruda knew that they wouldn’t work because the Baratheon bastard would believe that the only reason she was doing those things was to appease him, even if her intentions were honest. They needed a moment where, without thinking, she showed that her powers did more good than bad but a scenario like that would be difficult to find. It had kept him up all night, much to the annoyance of the woman he was thinking about. He shouldn’t have been worrying about this so much - he had enough on his mind as it was - but, once he wanted to achieve something, he rarely let it go until he’d accomplished his goals.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice Jorah heading towards him. The warlock would have walked straight into him if the knight hadn’t coughed loudly to announce his presence. Bruda would have anticipated the old bear to have an amused tone to his voice at the interaction but he instantly picked up on his nervous energy. His hair was slightly out of place when it had recently been meticulously combed back to look more presentable as the commander of the Queensguard. Regardless of the few wrinkles on his face, his eyes looked incredibly tired, grey pits skulking underneath them. It looked like he had failed to find slumber just like Bruda. They’d always been united in some way or another. Jorah’s gaze shifted around the corridor to check that no one was around. It was one of the quietest corners of the Red Keep, which was why Bruda walked down it so often. It gave him a better chance of collecting his thoughts, which usually took considerable amounts of concentration and will power.

“Can I talk to you?” Jorah asked him, again looking over his shoulder. Bruda’s instant reaction was to wonder whether he’d done something wrong. If he had, it would likely have been something Daenerys would have disapproved of and, if that was the case, they would all be in trouble.

“What have you done?” the older man responded accusingly.

“I haven’t done anything! I just...need to discuss something with you.”

“Go on then. I’m listening.”

“Not here. Somewhere private. I can’t risk someone else overhearing this.” Jorah’s words just had the effect of making Bruda even more agitated but he turned around and directed his friend the way he had just come, back towards his room. A sullen silence soon settled between the pair as they walked, the mage occasionally glancing at the other person. “I saw Gendry was in this part of the Keep last night.”

“Is this what you wanted to discuss?” It couldn’t be. That wouldn’t have made him so anxious.

“No. Just an observation. I was curious.”

“Curiosity will kill you one day,” Bruda warned. Their footsteps echoed against the stone walls, their shadows dwarfing them as sunlight filtered in through the windows.

“Says you.” That made the warlock chuckle.

“I was simply making him talk to Melisandre. They had a troubled past, to put it lightly. The last thing the queen needs is two people who are close to her fighting one another. He’s a spirited young man. Could be so much more than a blacksmith if it wasn’t for the circumstances of his birth.”

“That’d be something to bring up with Daenerys,” Jorah pointed out sagely. Bruda’s mind began to swirl with possibilities. It would certainly help his predicament. If he hadn’t been so focused on what his plan would be, he would have picked up on the strange tone Jorah’s voice had when he mentioned their ruler.

“I might just do that.” They arrived at the door of his chambers, Bruda unlocking it with a wave of his hand. Keys could be stolen. His magic was only available to the two people who needed access to the room. Thankfully, Melisandre wasn’t around for the time being since she was working with Marwyn. She’d mentioned something about a new healing agent he was working on. He was planning on going down to discover what this was; Jorah was acting as a distraction like he normally did. 

Bruda beckoned Jorah to sit down in one of the chairs that had been brought up the night before. He guessed that they would have to keep them if so many people wanted to talk to him there. He poured them both a glass of water (they didn't tend to drink alcohol during the day so that they could serve Daenerys properly) and sat down heavily in the chair opposite to his guest. He was made to be patient as Jorah took a long, shaky sip.

“Varys came to see me,” Jorah eventually explained.

“That’s enough to make anyone as agitated as you are right now. What did he want with you?” As far as Bruda knew, the two men weren’t that very close. He doubted that they had ever been alone together before.

“He wanted to bring up a proposition he’s thought of. He seemed rather keen on the idea.”

“But...you’re not?”

“I’m currently undecided.”

“And you want my advice to help you reach a decision?”

“That’d be helpful, yes.” He took another sip as Bruda looked at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“I can only be helpful if I know what the proposition is.”

“He wants me to marry Daenerys.” The sudden admission made Bruda spit out some of his drink and he stood up in shock. His normally wild eyes were even crazier than usual before a deep bellow of laughter erupted from his lips. “This isn’t the time for the laughter!”

“Oh, come on! From the looks of you, I thought someone had died. Oh, yes. It’s such a tragedy that you have to marry a young, beautiful, powerful woman who is, frankly, too good for you. A sorrowful series of events if there ever was one.”

“He believes that it will help with the North, her being with someone from that region.”

“That could work. And it would be beneficial to cut out that weed before it grows.”

“Ser Barristan Selmy once said to me that my presence by her side would ruin her chances of getting the people on her side.”

“Because of your..past grievances. So you’re...nervous that you’ll taint her reputation.”

“Exactly.”

“Despite her already having you close by her side and your relationship being public knowledge. Do you see how nonsensical you’re sounding?”

“Marriage would be a step too far. And she probably won’t want to do this. I wouldn’t if I were in her shoes. She doesn’t want to play the political games of the past and this is what this is.”

“No matter what her preferences are, she knew that some games would still have to be played. The issue of her dynasty and heirs would be solved through this.”

“Not exactly.” 

Bruda looked at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

“She can’t have children. She lost her first son in an attempt to save Khal Drogo, her first love. The sorcery involved left her barren.” 

Bruda sunk back down to his chair, putting his head in his hands. He hadn’t known this. He couldn’t help but be saddened by the thought that she had kept something so momentous from him, despite him knowing that it didn't concern him in the slightest. “Be that as it may...I can’t see many downsides to this. It’s got the possibility of winning back some favour with Bear Island and it would be another event for the common folk to look forward to.” Jorah’s eyes were set on the ground. “But you don’t think she’ll agree. You’re not truly worried about ruining her reputation. She already has control of the Realm so that doesn’t really matter. You’re worried that she’ll reject you.”

“Is it really that far fetched of a fear?”

“Possibly. If you didn't already know how much she loves you and adores the ground you walk upon.” Bruda let out a sigh. “You haven’t spoken to her about this yet, have you?”

Jorah shook his head. “You were the first person I came to.”

“While I’m flattered, I’m not the person you need to figure this out with. Just remember, if she doesn’t want to agree to this union, you’ll still be together.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Come on, Mormont. We know this already. I’m always right.”


	6. Secrets and Rewards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruda wants answers as Sansa makes it clear what her intentions are.

Daenerys smiled warmly when she heard the knock at her door. She had been looking forward to this time all morning. In truth, she had been looking forward to this all week, since the last time they had done it. Bruda took it upon himself to give her a debriefing of the current affairs of the kingdom once a week; they always ended up spiralling into unimportant conversation, which she simply adored. She liked to indulge when it came to their time alone because it was something different to the regularity of her council meetings, that were far too formal for her liking. Since becoming queen, she just didn't have time to properly talk to her advisors, excepting Jorah but he was certainly a special case. On her way to the throne, she had cherished the few moments she’d had alone with the warlock so was disappointed that it was limited to such an infrequent rate nowadays. She thought back to an evening soon after the battle of Winterfell, when she had spent the night whiling away the hours with stories, most of them incredibly far fetched, with Jorah, Bruda and Davos. She’d vowed to make time for moments like that again but that promise had slipped when the responsibilities that came with the job showed their ugly heads. What made this morning’s meeting more important was that she had spotted something - the old warlock had seemed to be avoiding her company for the past couple of days. She didn't think that she had done anything wrong (she’d spent the past two nights thinking about it to no avail) so it was a conundrum that she really wanted to solve. 

Bruda entered the room with a tight smile, carrying a heavy book that she knew would contain facts and figures she didn't truly care about. He set himself down in his usual spot, one of the cushy armchairs that had a small table by its side. He placed the book down on that for a brief moment as he reached into his cloak to retrieve his reading spectacles - old age had caught up to him in many ways, most obviously with his eyesight. Daenerys’ room was a lavish spectacle but no more than was necessary. He was sitting on the raised floor where her desk was situated, just in front of the balcony. Red and black curtains hung from the ceiling, kissing the floor ever so gently. They were blowing intermittently as the morning breeze wafted in. She enjoyed keeping the doors open to feel more connected to the city. The majority of the room was taken up by the four-poster bed, lower down from what constituted her office. Other than that, it was a fairly empty chamber; it was designed to serve its purpose and nothing more. She didn't like spending any more time than was strictly needed there as she wanted to be active all the time in her regime. 

Bruda huffed loudly as he bent over to get the book again, opening up to a specific page on the first go - he always claimed that it was another example of his magic but she knew that he secretly kept a marker in it - and placing his glasses precariously on the end of his nose. He brought a finger to his lips in thought as the queen peered at him curiously. He was acting strangely distant when he was normally a peculiarly affectionate man compared to the rest of her council members.

“Right then,” he mumbled. He had hardly looked at her once, fully focused on the book. “Where should we begin? Ser Bronn wanted me to mention the funds for the tourney again.” She wanted to scream if she had to hear about this tourney again. But she wasn’t concentrating on that. Her guest hadn’t swapped any pleasantries with her at all. He hadn’t even said a word to her apart from just then. It was as if he was doing this in a strictly professional manner. Doing it because he had to, not because he wanted to. She tried thinking back on their previous conversations but could still not see any wrongdoing on her part. Regardless, she sat down beside him, hoping to garner his attention. 

“What about the funds? I thought it was his job to sort out the necessary money,” she said. Maybe it would be best to talk to him like this at first before she could make him open up on what was troubling him.

“He just wants to clarify the specifics.” He looked at the book more closely. “Specifics as in 78,000 gold dragons in total for prizes and the general set up of the tournament. By my understanding, he’s already set aside that amount. He’s just waiting for your approval.”

Daenerys let out a sigh. “Tell him that, if that’s how much this dreaded thing will cost the crown, then get it and be done with it.”

“I’ll do exactly that.” He slammed the book shut, making her jump slightly. He looked at her now as he removed his glasses. She was happy that he was at least willing to properly acknowledge her presence. “There’s been some questions about the land that the Dothraki are currently presiding over.”

She sat up straighter at his words, tense at the thought of animosity towards them from the general public. “Have people been...complaining about their presence?”

“Oh, no. The Dothraki have been wondering whether they could have a larger area. Their population seems to be swelling. I don’t want to call it a boom from war celebrations but...it’s a boom from war celebrations. They obviously relieved their tension in one way.”

She smirked at his awkwardness but he didn't match her levity. “Can we grant them their wish?”

“I don’t see why not. There’s a lot of open land outside the city walls that they could expand into. But you also have to remember that there are a number of farms just a bit further. Bringing them too close together could cause some issues.”

“Could they not work together?”

A small smile filtered onto his face for the briefest of moments. “The people of King’s Landing and those who provide most of our agricultural needs are still uneasy around them. I know that relations are becoming better but let’s not push our luck.”

“Do you have a solution then?”

“We give them more land. Not a lot because then we still have room to appease them if they want future gains. But, instead of pushing outwards from the city, I’d advise allowing them to grow around the city perimeters, like a strip. It reduces the chances of them confronting other landowners.”

“Inform Tyrion that I’ve approved of it,” she said without much thought. He noted it down on a smaller book, one he kept in his cloak. “Anything else?”

“I wanted to bring up an idea I had. Concerning Storm’s End.”

“The old Baratheon stronghold? What of it?”

“I had Gendry over the other night, hoping to acclimatise him better into our...close circle.”

“Without my knowledge.”

“...Yes. But it was a private matter rather than one concerning the Crown. He and Melisandre have a history, you see. I wanted to deal with it.”

“How does this relate to the castle?”

“You could make him Lord of it. As a gesture of goodwill for helping you take King’s Landing. Trust me, you wouldn’t be sitting here if I hadn’t taken out those scorpions and I was only able to do that because of his assistance.”

“You want me to legitimise a potential rival to my throne?” Daenerys was clearly sceptical about the idea.

“I’m sure he’ll bend the knee.”

“It’s a risk.”

“One that would strengthen your presence further across the kingdom. Storm’s End comes with soldiers. Soldiers are always good.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask. Okay then...what else? The wildlings have accepted your invitation. A small party is on its way, led by Jon Snow.”

“Excellent. It will be good to see them again.”

“Indeed. We’re still waiting on the Northern houses to give us their response.”

Her smile faded, replaced with a scowl. “I should take it as an insult that they’re taking so long.”

“It’s just politics,” he said dismissively, which didn't improve her mood. 

“I thought that you were one of the people who wanted me to avoid such nonsensical  _ political _ games.”

“Some things you just have to accept.” His voice was tired, uncaring. She wanted to shout at him but knew that it wouldn’t help.

“Are there any solutions in place to deal with the North?” she asked. Bruda glanced at her for a second, thoughts running through his head. He couldn’t tell her. It wasn’t his place.

“Some that are in the early stages,” he chose to evasively say.

“Are you going to tell me what that means?”

“Not at the moment.”

“I am your Queen!” she replied indignantly. She stood up, pacing over to her balcony.

“And I am your advisor. But this can’t come from me.” He was soon by her side as they overlooked the city below but he kept a certain distance away from her.

“Fine. But I want to find out by the time our next meeting comes around.”

Bruda nodded his head. “I’m hoping that will be the case.”  _ If Jorah built up enough courage _ .

“Any news on my throne?”

“Almost done. Again, I don’t think you’ll be waiting beyond a week.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing it. You’ve been keeping me waiting.” Daenerys smirked at him but was surprised when he started to walk away after he sent one back.

“I think that’s all I needed to discuss, your Grace. If I may be excused? I’ve got a number of things to deal with today.”

“You may not.” That stumped him. “First, you are going to explain to me why you have been avoiding me and why you’ve been acting so coldly today.”

“I haven’t.” He had. Ever since his talk with Jorah and the revelation that had brought up, he hadn’t wanted to see her. He was still hurt that she hadn’t confided in him when she claimed that they were close with one another. She slowly walked up to him, placing a slender hand on his wrinkled cheek.

“You have,” she countered softly. “You should be a better liar after so many years.” He looked down at the floor, having wanted to avoid this conversation. It looked like he wasn’t going to be able to get away with it as easily as he’d hoped.

“It seems that I just can’t keep things from you.”

“That’s the way I like it. Now...what’s troubling that large mind of yours.”

“Do you think that flattery will win me over?”

Her reply came instantly. “Yes.” They both shared a smile before a sad look washed over Bruda’s face.

“You didn't tell me.”

“About?”

He carefully placed a hand on her stomach, almost reverently, and her eyes widened in realisation. “You could have told me. It’s a rather important detail to know, what with you being queen and everything. Plans will falter because of this.”

That angered her. “My body is not a part of any plans, even yours.”

He retracted his hand quickly when he noticed her fury. “That’s not what I meant. I truly am sorry for what happened to you. The reason that I haven’t been speaking to you, ignoring the fact that you weren’t inclined to do so, was because you didn't tell me about it. We’ve been through quite a lot. I guess it just...hurt. I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place.”

“It’s not something that I want to talk about often. And, frankly, it doesn’t concern you.”

“I completely understand that.” He knew that she wasn’t going to discuss the matter in great detail now so he wandered back towards the door, picking up the book he’d brought. “But...if you ever do, because it is a large and terrible thing you had to go through, remember that my door is always open.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

“And also, try and remember  _ who  _ I am. If you had told me about this, I could have done something about it.” 

That sent a warm tingle through her body. He couldn’t possibly mean  _ that. _ But he’d done much greater things in the past. She’d just never put the two together before. She was filled with a strange sensation. Hope. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not ready yet. Within a week,” he said as he opened the door. “I reckon you’ll come to me within a week. Once something just as important is out in the open.”

**********

Sansa smiled broadly as the riders came in, happy to see the one family member she had remaining in the kingdom. She was standing in front of a small welcoming party who wanted to greet the wildling contingent. The bonds that had been made during the war weren’t likely to be broken any time soon and she was glad to see that the positive relations only such a collective trauma could cause were still healthy. Young Meera Reed (although she was hardly many years behind Sansa) stood by her side, the two of them growing close since their reunion of sorts, spending a lot of the time swapping stories, many of which revolved around Bran. There were a number of soldiers and guards with her, hoping to reconnect with those that they had fought side by side; they were disappointed to see such a small group turn up. The Maester had even ventured from his room in the tower, knowing that the ravens would be able to survive without him for a short period of time.

Jon jumped from his steed but fought the urge to run to his sister - she now strongly urged him to refer to her as such after years of keeping her distance from him. He respectfully bowed when he reached her, placing a tender kiss on her outstretched hand. 

“My Lady,” he greeted her with a serious expression on his face. Sansa chose to swipe his hand away and envelope him in a hug, both of them laughing and smiling. 

“There is no need for such formalities between us,” she admonished lightly.

“Is that because you just don’t want to call me king?”

“Are you a king?”

“Some of the Free Folk say so, yes.”

“Well then, your  _ Grace _ .” She gave him an overly dramatic curtsy to accentuate her point. “It is a pleasure to see you again and a true  _ honour _ for you to visit our home.”

“I’m going to regret mentioning this, aren’t I?” He was now regretting opening his mouth at all.

“Oh, indeed.” She glanced at the young woman by her side. “I’m sure you remember Meera Reed.”

Jon looked at her, trying to place her and, when he did, his expression saddened. “Of course. My lady, you were the brave and noble girl who assisted Bran.”

“I was,” Meera replied coolly. Sansa had briefly mentioned Jon’s part in the death of the boy in question. 

“It was a great shame what had to happen to him. How one person can change so much in such a short space a time still confuses me even now.”

“Maybe he didn't change at all. Maybe you were fed lies.” The Crannogman definitely had a temper when it came to this particular topic, Sansa had discovered over their many evening discussions. She must have grown close to Bran, which was perfectly reasonable after all of the time they’d spent together.

“I beg your pardon.”

“Come now,” Sansa intervened. “I believe that is a topic for another time and another, more private, place. You know that the hospitality of Winterfell is open to you and your party. The Great Hall has been set with plenty of drink and food for your arrival.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Tormund said as he dismounted from his horse, leading the rest of the wildlings in the direction of sustenance. As they began to talk with the soldiers, the group started to disperse.

“I was wanting to talk to you,” Sansa said to Jon. “I don’t want to keep you from your food so I could wait.”

“You’re the head of the house. If you want to talk to me, you tell me,” Jon told her with a smile. “I don’t want to keep my lady waiting.”

“Enough with the ‘ _ my ladies’ _ . You know full well that you can call me Sansa. We’ll go to my chambers then.” She noticed that Meera was still by their side. “I’m sorry, Lady Reed. I want to reconnect with my brother. You’ll understand that that is a private matter.” Meera seemed to hesitate for a moment, understanding what they would inevitably talk about, before nodding her head and leaving with the rest of the group. 

Sansa had rightly moved into the largest room of the castle. Her previous quarters had been stripped of all personality when she had returned before the war and so had felt no ill feelings when she decided to abandon it. Apart from the size, it was no different from the other rooms in the building. Grey, dull stone with a large, durable bed. The place had always been built for practicality rather than comfort. It was a far cry from the extravagance she had experienced during her time in the capital but she found that she was grateful for that, never wanting to be reminded of that terrible portion of her life. 

She rested her arms on the cold windowsill once they entered, Jon casually looking around. A few moments passed with neither of them talking before she turned around, her back pressed against the wall. “How is life treating you beyond the Wall?” She was still annoyed that he had chosen that life but knew that he wouldn’t listen to her complaints anymore.

“As well as we suspected,” he replied. “It took most of them a while to grow accustomed to that way of life again after so long away from it. But I’d say we’re thriving now. For once in my life, I’m care free...apart from having to break up the occasional fight but I think that’s more of a testosterone-fuelled problem. Especially when it comes to the women.”

Sansa didn't laugh at his joke, which he should have seen as the first sign of something being on her mind. “And you’re going to the tourney?”

“Of course I am! I wasn’t going to turn down her invitation after all we went through.”

Sansa knew that it was probably just down to him still having hopes of getting closer to Daenerys. “I’m yet to decide whether I’ll be going.”

That perplexed Jon. “Why not? It should be an entertaining event.”

“She has barely recognised the North since she took the Throne. Despite us being the main cause of the victory against the dead.”

“Are you being serious? Inviting the  _ North _ is her recognising it! What do you want from her? Do you want her to get on her knees and worship your feet?”

“Independence.”

“Oh, not this again! You have brought this up with her before and she said no. It can’t be clearer than that. Why would you even want that? King’s Landing provides you with a lot of resources.”

“We can’t trust her. Not completely. Every day, I spend my time on edge, thinking that she’ll fly here with her dragons and take this place for herself. That’s what she wants.”

Jon placed a hand on his head in frustration. “She fought for the North! All she ever wanted was the throne. She never once mentioned taking the North from its people.”

“Then why did she kill Bran?”

“She didn't.”

“Her men did.”

“I am tired of discussing this with you. He changed! Whatever powers he had, they...poisoned him. He was going to hurt people. Indirectly, he had already hurt a lot of people! The only way to stop that was to stop him.”

“Or was it because she wanted to remove a man who would take over this seat of immense power.”

“You’re forgetting that he said he couldn’t take it. You’re not manipulating facts to suit your warped view of her.”

“Wars have been started for less, Jon.” Her voice had a steely tone to it.

“We have been through too many wars for you to be saying such things. If you had actually fought in one, you wouldn’t be so eager to start one.”

That offended her. “I remember you being the one who sent me away before the war started. You took the choice away from me.”

“That was actually Bruda’s idea. Or have you decided to overlook the fact that one of her closest advisors was looking out for you too?”

“Removing me so that his queen would gain more popularity for fighting by the side of my men. Yes, how very noble of him.”

“You need to stop going down this path, Sansa. You’re right in that wars have been started for less. Your words are treasonous. Her fondness for the North will only stretch so far. You can’t keep bringing this up or you’ll face the fire. She is our queen!”

“Your Queen. I never bent the knee. Maybe I can give her one more chance.”

“Thank you.”

“Which is why I’ll go with you to King’s Landing.”

**********

Gendry didn't understand why he had been summoned to the great hall of the Red Keep. Large Thomas Pulver had bundled into the back room of the blacksmiths and shoved a sealed letter into his hand with nothing more than a word. He’d instantly known that it was from the Queen due to the dragon that was emblazoned on the red wax. Had he done something wrong? Had his callous words towards the Lady Melisandre gone too far, insulting her and the warlock who was clearly devoted to her? He’d immediately rushed off, abandoning his work. Pulver wouldn’t dare complain unless he wanted a summons of his own. Was Daenerys going to revoke his membership on the council, although he rarely joined them in their meetings? His skills would only be needed if a war was being fought and they needed large amounts of armour and weapons. His mind then started to spiral, worrying that they were now facing a war so soon after the last one. It was the only explanation. He was practically hyperventilating as he stood outside the closed doors of the chamber. Two soldiers were standing guard, one Unsullied and one member of the Queensguard. Queen Daenerys did that to symbolise the union between her journey to the throne and the kingdom she had won as a result. Neither of them paid him any attention. It was the way he liked it. He could go through life with complete anonymity and be a happier man for it.

The guards did visibly straighten when a distinct clanging sound could be heard, getting closer to them. Bruda, his staff rhythmically banging against the floor, approached slowly, frowning slightly when he saw the younger man. He was just in the dark as Gendry, not knowing why Daenerys was calling for their presence. He stood next to Gendry, the two of them staring at the wooden doors. The warlock bit his lip in agitation. The sound began to annoy his companion.

“Is this your doing?” he asked, a mixture of worry and anger in his voice.

Bruda looked at him with his wild eyes. “No. I thought you’d know what was going on. Evidently, my expectations were too high.”

“So...it’s not to do with the other evening?”

“As far as I’m aware. You’ve got nothing to worry about when it comes to that. Well...at least from Daenerys.” He gave Gendry a playful wink, the other man knowing that, behind the jovial manner of his words, there was a clear threat. “Shall we go in? We shouldn’t keep them waiting.” 

“No time like the present. You’d tell me if I was getting executed, wouldn’t you?”

“Probably not.” Despite that, Bruda stepped towards the doors, his movement prompting the two soldiers to open them for them. A now even more nervous Gendry cautiously followed him. Inside, on the raised platform, Daenerys stood with a smile. Her dress was a vibrant red, almost as deep as the flames her dragons produced. A delicate crown was placed on her head, a white and black lattice that often got lost in her blonde hair. She looked incredibly regal and that told them all that they needed to know - whatever this was, she was doing it as the Queen, not their close friend. Missandei, clad in a simpler white dress, and Tyrion, in a black leather doublet, were on either side of her. On the normal floor level, Jorah stood tall and proud in his golden armour. There were also the other members of the council, even Shireen, who smiled brightly at them as she wore her finest clothes. Davos stood protectively by her side, giving the two of them curt nods. Other than them though, the atrium was mainly empty.

“Warlock Bruda,” Daenerys greeted cordially. “If you would join the rest of us.” He sent her a questioning look but she simply responded with an arched eyebrow. The majority of the animosity between them, brief how it had been, was dissipating thankfully. There was still a conversation to be had between them though at a later date. He walked off to one side towards Melisandre, leaving Gendry to have all of the attention on him. “Gendry.”

“Your Grace,” he said, his eyes shifting to the others. Davos’ eyes seemed to shine mischievously.

“You are Robert Baratheon’s oldest son, aren’t you?”

“...I am.” Where was she going with this? Didn't she already know that? 

“The man who fought to remove my father from the throne and then attempted to have my brother and I killed, just young babes. He actually sought my murder on a number of occasions.”

He could feel a sheen of sweat appearing on his forehead. Was he going to be made to pay for his father’s crimes? “I didn't know that he was my father until long after those events, your Grace.” 

“I have no doubt about that. And now your father is dead. As are his two brothers. Do you know what that means?”

“I’m afraid to say that I only have the brain of a common man, your Grace. I couldn’t possibly follow.”

She smiled politely at his self-deprecation. “It means that Storm’s End has been vacant for a very long time.”

“I suppose it does, yes.”

“Do you know who is the current Lord of Storm’s End?”

“Again, I must let you down. I don’t.”

“Do any of you?” she asked everyone else. Shireen took a confident stop forwards, guided slightly by her guardian.

“I would be,” she said, just loud enough for them all to hear.

“Exactly. Unless Robert Baratheon’s son was alive and well. And, from where I stand, I can see that he is.”

“But...I’m just a bastard,” Gendry sputtered. 

“No. You are Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm’s End, the true and legitimate son of King Robert Baratheon.” 

Gendry looked around in bewilderment. Davos unsheathed his sword, raising it high. Those who had weapons of their own did the same. “To Lord Gendry Baratheon,” the former smuggler said proudly. He’d had a close connection to the young man ever since their time at Dragonstone. He could see his son in him at times, which made it all the sweeter. The others repeated the toast as a servant hurried into the room, handing them all drinks. They raised them too, Gendry copying the action even though his body was acting out of pure instinct. He couldn’t comprehend what this meant for him. Would he still continue to work at the blacksmiths? He had to finish the throne, he knew that. Would he have time to do that now? 

“There is one condition that I must add,” Daenerys said after she’d taken a sip of wine. “Your seat on the council is now an official place, Master-at-arms of the city. I trust you will enjoy training the Gold Cloaks so they are just as skilled as you are.”

“I’m honoured, your Grace.”

“But I must ask that you bend the knee to me.” Her expression turned serious. “As a sign of unity between our two houses. I don’t doubt your allegiances in the slightest but it would settle any worries I have a great deal.”

Without much hesitation, he was soon kneeling on the floor, looking up at her. “I, Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End, do swear my allegiance to Daenerys Targaryen, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. If she requires my support in any fashion, let it be known that I swear to provide any assistance I can.”

She was happy that he had given no resistance to the idea, glancing at Tyrion, who had suggested that it would be a possibility. He had far too much of a cynical outlook on life at times. “That’s the forced formalities out of the way. I thank you for your cooperation and I look forward to working more closely with you.”

“I will forever be grateful. This is more than I deserve.”

“You do yourself an injustice. It was one of my councillors who reminded me how valuable you were in getting me to this position.” She smiled at Bruda, who wouldn’t meet Gendry’s curious look. “You deserved to be rewarded.”

Shireen was the first to rush by his side, hugging him tightly. Davos closely followed the young girl. “We’re properly family now,” she remarked happily.

“I don’t want this to mean that I’m taking her guardianship away from you, Davos,” Gendry said. 

Davos waved away his concerns. “I’m sure that we can work together on that front. We both want what’s best for her, after all.”

“I feel like I’ve taken her place though. She should be Lady Baratheon.”

“The Queen was polite enough to ask me about it before she proceeded with the idea,” Shireen informed him. “I was more than happy for this to happen. I’m far too young to rule a house! It’d be so boring.” Gendry laughed at her words, ruffling her hair affectionately. On the stage, as the group congregated around him to congratulate him, Bruda quietly stepped towards Daenerys. They watched the scene unfold in silence but the mere fact that he was willing to come up to her put a smile on her face.

“Thank you for doing this,” he said after a moment. “I didn't expect you to act so quickly.”

Daenerys turned to him. “You thought that it was a good idea. I’ll always trust your judgement.” The thought of their previous conversation had been playing on a loop in her head for quite some time and she instinctively put a hand on her stomach. Bruda picked up on the unconscious action.

“How...are you feeling?” he awkwardly asked.

“Confused. I feel like I don’t know about everything that is happening in what is supposed to be my castle.”

Bruda shuffled his feet, looking at the ground. “I didn't help with my remarks, did I?”

“You were concerned about me. I shouldn’t be angry about that.”

“But you are?”

“I was. Now I’m just curious about what you said. How you can help me. You’ve already done so much for me.”

“Which should tell you that I’ll continue to do that. I’ll come running whenever you call.” 

“But not yet.”

Bruda looked over at Jorah, who noticed his stare and quickly focused on his conversation with Varys. “Not yet. But very soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conversation that Daenerys mentions can be read in full in my short story ‘Stories and tales’


	7. Sense and Hesitance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry and Jorah face the doubts that plague them as a new future approaches them

The Kingsroad, already well trodden and looking worse for wear, was being churned up even further as a large party progressed along it. Once Sansa Stark, the lady of Winterfell and the most powerful person in the North, had decided that she wanted to visit the Queen’s tourney, it had been a very quick process to gather people together to travel with her. Along with the wildlings, which had been a rather small group when they arrived at the castle, there were now a number of knights, sworn to protect the head of House Stark in case they ran into any trouble along the way. That was always a possibility when undertaking such a large journey, which was why so many men had opted to come. Sansa also knew that it was because they wanted to experience the tournament and its festivities, hoping to earn some more glory, as well as coin. When there were no wars across the kingdom, something that had been a rarity for the past decade, the only way to earn respect and a sense of triumph was through these competitions. She also realised that many of them would never have had any experience of the south and its foreign way of living, curiosity always being a driving force behind travellers. No wonder they had been so eager to escort her. She didn't care about their motives as long as they drew their swords against any possible enemies.

With her departure, leaving the stronghold of Winterfell under the care of her trusted master-at-arms, the other Northern families had been quick to send word of their hopefulness to join her in King’s Landing. She reckoned that most of them wouldn’t end up doing that, too scared to leave their castles with their protective high walls. The temptation of increasing one’s reputation in front of the new queen was sometimes not enough to drive people out of their homes. Some of her own advisors had begged her to change her mind too, reminding her of how people had taken advantage of Winterfell’s emptiness in the past. The Greyjoys and Boltons obviously sprung to mind. She had retorted that those events had happened during a time of war, which they weren’t currently in, and, if they had such worries, she would have to find new men to protect her home since they didn't seem to be up to the challenge. That had silenced then fairly quickly.

One family that had decided to come with her were the two Reeds, Meera and her father, Howland. Sansa had initially been hesitant about the young girl’s presence, knowing how she felt about Bran. Putting her in front of, or even in close proximity to, the people who had brought about his demise, no matter whether they felt that it was the right thing to do, was a dangerous choice. Meera had not wanted to hear anything but her agreement though, saying that she had protected Bran and could now do the same for his sister. But the dangerous glint in her eyes told Sansa that she had some hidden ulterior motives. She would be keeping a very close eye on her when they got to the capital. She didn't particularly like the new ruler but she didn't want to start a war just yet. Not when it wasn’t on her own terms.

She had turned down the opportunity to ride down to the capital in a carriage. Her advisors had suggested that it was only proper for her to arrive in some form of luxury, to highlight how the North was still a powerful entity. But she had wanted to take a different approach. She knew how Daenerys’ mind worked, wanting to improve the world for those who had been less fortunate than the lords that ruled over them. By riding the distance on horseback, clad in a simple cloak to disguise her from any wandering eyes, she would be able to show those very people that the North was more connected to them, the people they relied upon. That way, she would be seen as a suitable figure to back if a conflict arose, especially when they saw the extravagance of the tourney and thought about how much coin must have been used to put it on. The same coin Queen Daenerys had claimed would be used to help them. She was becoming happier with her decision to go with every passing moment when she plotted such ideas. The North also wasn’t in the financial position to spend lavishly on pointless carriages after the war, even if it would have made her journey a lot comfier. Such sacrifices wouldn’t go unnoticed.

Her positive mood soured when her gaze landed on Jon, who was cutting a sullen figure as he rode further ahead with his wildlings. He hadn’t spoken to her since their argument the day he had arrived and it didn't look like he was exactly eager to break that silence. She just couldn’t understand him. He had wanted her to go. Now that she was, he seemed like he was now worried about that prospect. Maybe that had something to do with how the last meeting had gone between her and the mother of dragons. To call it ‘icy’ would be an understatement. It could possibly also have to do with how she had openly claimed to be hungry for war if she was not given the independence she craved. No. Needed. Deserved. In truth, she didn't know the first thing about starting a war and didn't know whether the North had the strength to go to battle so soon after the last one. All she knew was that it was a worthwhile cause to risk everything for.

Jon could feel her gaze on him, the hairs on the back of his neck sticking up. He didn't dare look back to avoid giving her the satisfaction of a small but significant win. She was acting like a child. She may have been through a lot in her life but it was as if she hadn’t done any growing up in the process. The region didn't need independence. It wasn’t on the brink of financial ruin, praying for the day that they could disconnect from the rest of the kingdom. She was doing it because she didn't like Daenerys, which was an idiotic reason to create animosity, especially with the Crown. He couldn’t understand why she hated her so much - Daenerys had risked her entire campaign and the dreams that rested on it to stand by the North and fight the White Walkers. It was like he was the only one who remembered that fact; as soon as she had left, all the local people had been waxing lyrical about their strong Stark leader. He had been forced to stop himself on a number of occasions from reminding them that she hadn’t actually accomplished anything yet.

He kept his eyes on the road ahead but started talking to Tormund, who was focused on picking something out from his yellow teeth. “I don’t have a good feeling about this, you know.”

Tormund looked at him as if he’d grown an extra head, forgetting for the time being his dental struggles. “You’re the one that convinced me to come.”

“It didn't take a lot of convincing.”

“It’s too late to go back now. I’m not returning without being drenched in the tears of the poncy lords I’m going to beat.” 

Jon let out a small laugh at his comment. “I hope I’m not going to regret inviting you.”

“Why are you so worried all of a sudden?” 

“The kingdom has finally reached a semblance of peace for the first time in a long time. I don’t want our visit to jeopardise that.”

“I know I’m going to embarrass a lot of rather feminine men but that’s hardly enough to start a war.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about.”

Tormund quickly glanced back. “Your sister.”

“She’s gotten it into her head that she can take on Daenerys. You know, the woman with the three dragons and all the power of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“One thing’s for sure...she’s a lot braver than you.”

“And also stupider. More naive. We’ve been through battles. She hasn’t. She doesn’t know what they’re like. If she did...she wouldn’t be so eager.”

“You never know. I still love a fight despite having my fair share of battle scars.”

“But you’ve hit your head so often that you’ve lost all sense.”

“Just because you think you can gallop away from me, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be scared about the consequences of you insulting me.”

“I didn't think that you’d take it as an insult,” Jon argued with a smirk.

Tormund seemed to think about it as they continued to plod along, both being soothed by the constant swaying. “You’re probably right about that.” He peered closely at Jon, scrutinising him. “You’re too wound up for a boy your age.”

“I’m not a boy!”

“Only a boy would say that.”

“Haven’t I got an excuse for being on edge? My life has been one battle to the next. It’s only natural for me to be looking out for the next one.”

“You need a good fuck.”

Jon started to splutter. “Excuse me?”

“How long has it been? Too long, I reckon. Once you bed a woman again, you’ll be chipper and much better company for riding.”

“I’m not exactly going to find someone on this journey.”

“You didn't talk to the girl.”

“Which girl?”

Tormund rolled his eyes. “Oslen. The one you were drooling over before we left. If you’d had the balls to do something back then, you wouldn’t be so miserable now.”

“Like you said, we were leaving. There was no time.”

“A rubbish fucking excuse.” He let out a tired sigh. “I hope for our sake that you find someone soon and start to see sense.”

“Yeah,” Jon mumbled non-commitantly. This time, he did look back at Sansa, who was thankfully distracted at that moment. He was just hoping that she would see sense before it was too late.

**********

The streets of King’s Landing were becoming busier by the day as travellers reached the city gates, hoping to experience the tourney in all of its grandeur. Not only did they consist of noble families looking to participate in the events, which was leaving the guesthouses filled to their maximum capacities, but there were also merchants and traders hoping to use the large crowds to sell their wares. Without having even started, the tournament was doing exactly what Varys had said it would - generate money and an abundance of good feeling in the city. Bronn had been waxing lyrical about how full the purse was for the Crown, pleasing the queen to no end. She had learnt the hard way how important money was, having to barter and trade throughout her long and tiring journey to the throne. Just because she was now sitting on said throne didn't mean that having coin was any less important. 

The only issue it caused was the large crowds that they were so very thankful for. Although they brought money with them, their presence meant that the already over-populated capital was even more densely packed than usual. General happiness aside, this had already caused some tensions between a number of people, fights breaking out over nothing more than an invasion of personal space. The influx of people also meant that it was becoming more difficult to monitor the city gates and who was coming through them; the council’s worry was that this would allow vagabonds and criminals to sneak in the usually well guarded city. The last thing Daenerys wanted was trouble to break out just because they were celebrating her arrival, which was why she had been so hesitant to agree in the first place. The only way to somehow deal with this issue was to make sure the City Watch were well maintained, numbered, trained, as well as being more orderly and respectful than they usually were. When Daenerys had listed these needs and reminded Gendry that he was now supposed to be in control of such problems, he had started to wonder whether the  _ reward _ she had given him wasn’t actually some cruel trick. 

He was walking through the bustling streets with Ser Davos by his side. Although it was unlikely that anyone would recognise them as they weren’t noble-born despite their high ranking positions, they still kept a firm grip on the swords just to be safe. All it would take was one fool too drunk to see sense to start a needless fight and they would be dragged into the mess. It was best to be armed and better safe than sorry. Davos, though, had a grin on his face as they weaved through the crowd. Gendry couldn’t understand why he was so happy. All he could think about was the many responsibilities he now had and how he still needed to finish the throne for the Queen before Bruda came looking for him. Being a Lord wouldn’t protect him from the warlock’s ire, he knew that for sure.

“Don’t you just love it?” Davos remarked, smelling the air as if it wasn’t a rather putrid and repugnant miasma. “A city being active. Even Queen Daenerys could walk through here and struggle to be noticed.”

Gendry looked at him cautiously, wondering if he’d been drinking with the locals. “Is that really a good thing?”

“Aye. If you were a smuggler like me. This is the definition of paradise, mark my words. I could slip in here with a full cart of the finest jewels or food and no one would bother me if I were careful.”

“Do I have to remind you that you’re no longer a smuggler?”

“No you don’t,” Davos said with a roll of his eyes. “Daenerys made it perfectly clear that I was to abandon that life if I were to sit on her Council. I much prefer the seats in that room compared to a rowboat.”

“Old habits just die hard.”

Davos gave him a queer look. “Exactly. I sometimes miss the feel of the sea underneath my feet since it was the only life I’d ever had. But now I have the best of both worlds. I finally get some comfort but I still get to work with me ships.” 

“You’re in a strangely positive mood today. It’s disconcerting.”

“You weren’t saying that when I was in a  _ positive enough mood _ to set you free from Dragonstone.”

“Are you going to lord that over me for the rest of our lives?”

“Probably. I think I deserve that at least.” He smiled at the younger man, who chuckled at his friend. Were they friends? He was probably the closest he had to someone like that, which was a rather sobering thought. They hadn’t spent that much time together when he thought about it but that didn't truly matter. There was an unspoken rule between them - that they’d look out for one another. It was probably why Davos had come down with him to the streets, rather than staying in the Keep with the rest of them, although he also seemed enthralled in the atmosphere around them.

“Are you going to explain why you’re so happy?”

“Maybe it’s the sound of all of that money coming into the city. A lovely sound. With each coin that enters this city, our queen grows even stronger. Isn’t it enough to be happy that this kingdom might finally see peace?”

“Possibly. I don’t know whether I believe this place can have peace for a long time. It goes against the nature of most of the people in the realm.”

“Yes, but you’re a cynic at heart,” Davos countered. 

Gendry nodded his head in agreement. “What I’ve been through in life would give you that mindset.”

“But now you’re past all of that. No wonder I’m happy. I get to see you as a Lord now. But I think that is the main reason behind your sour mood.”

“I’m just...overwhelmed,” Gendry admitted. “It’s a lot more responsibility than I’m used to.”

“How do you think I felt when Stannis put me in a position of authority?”

“You don’t have to run an entire castle on your own.”

“You’ll have men to help you with that. Cooks, cleaners, stableboys...do you think that Daenerys worries about the upkeep of the Red Keep? No is your answer.”

“I’ve also got to think about my family name now.”

“Aye. Baratheon is a powerful family name but one that you’ve been dealing with the consequences of for some time. You’ve always gone on about people being interested in you because of it. Nothing’s changed there apart from it being public knowledge. And, again, you’ll have people around you to help you make decisions. Advisors and the such, just like the Queen’s council.”

“What about Shireen?”

“What about her?” Davos frowned at his question.

“She’s my responsibility now.”

“You’ll have to select an appropriate husband for her, yes. But she’s a rather independent young woman and I’ve been tasked to deal with the nitty gritty of her day to day life.”

“By the gods...I’ll have to marry too.”

“It isn’t that bad. If you happen to find a nice woman. There will be many eligible options for you to consider when the time is right.”

“I’ve also got the City Watch to control now.”

“The City Watch have been able to cope without you for quite some time. The Queensguard regulate them in the main and the higher ranking members make sure there isn’t too much disobedience. You’re just a figurehead people will go to if anything serious happens and that won’t occur.”

“I can’t just keep delegating my problems away!” Gendry responded angrily.

“That’s what any good Lord does. You’ll find that out soon enough. For the time being, just take a breath and remember the one job that truly matters at the moment.”

“Did Bruda tell you about the throne then?”

“Everyone on the council knows about it.” Gendry shot him a confused look. “He likes to talk. I thought you would have noticed that by now. He also told me about your little meeting with Lady Melisandre. I remember telling you to stay clear of her unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“Bruda was very persistent. And you’re one to talk. You were the one who told him about my...anger towards her.” Anger didn't sum it up well enough, not doing his feelings justice.

“Because we want you to be able to control those emotions. You’re not going to like everyone you meet in this world, trust me. But, as a Lord, it is of vital importance that you pretend that you do.”

“I’m truly a part of this dreaded game now, aren’t I?”

“Tell me about it. Who would have thought that two low born men who wanted to have quiet lives like us could rise so high?”

**********

Ser Jorah Mormont had not been looking forward to this moment at all. In fact, he had been putting it off for nearly a week. He knew deep down that he shouldn’t have but he simply couldn’t help it. He may have been a knight and the commander of the Queensguard, a survivor of many a terrible battle, and a rather nifty wielder of a longsword...but, when it came to addressing his emotions, he was completely and utterly a massive coward. He was standing outside the private chambers he and Daenerys shared, knowing that she was inside waiting for him, probably wondering he was. She had been pestering him since her talk with Bruda about what their plans were and, every time, he would say that he didn't know and quickly think of an imaginary urgent situation that he needed to deal with. Surely she would have figured out by now that the Queensguard didn't need telling their rota and schedule twice a day. He hesitantly placed his hand on the door, all sorts of scenarios playing out in his mind. Maybe it was possible for him to carry on ignoring it, hoping that Varys would ultimately change his mind and he wouldn’t have to go through with asking her at all. But he knew that would just cause his pain and suffering to carry on, making him less useful as Daenerys’ protector. If he had the courage to broach the topic, seamlessly slipping it into the conversation...it was highly likely that she would grow angry at the thought, not wanting to be tied down to a single man when she was such a powerful woman. It would disrespect everything she had already accomplished, making it seem like she needed him to be able to rule when she really didn't. But then the thought of the prospect of her agreeing to the idea would enter his mind...that aching sense of hope had kept him up the past few nights, tossing and turning. Thankfully, Daenerys hadn’t appeared to notice his restlessness.

Bruda had confronted him in one of the many corridors of the Red Keep with an angry and exasperated expression on his face, his bushy eyebrows furrowed as he examined the other man. Jorah had complained about him harassing him, practically attacking him. He’d tried to play the card of it being a crime to do so in the vain hope of making him stop. He should have known that the warlock wasn’t so easily intimidated.

“Try and lock me up,” he’d said, with the knowledge that that wouldn’t happen. “You can do whatever you like once you listen to me. You need to tell her tonight! I told her that it would be a week maximum before she found out and she’s getting even more curious. Here’s your ultimatum...the incentive to finally do it...if you don’t ask her about it this evening and I wake up to find her just as bloody clueless as before...I will tell her myself. I have got far too much to think about without adding your insecurities to the list.”

He’d marched off after that, not needing to hear Jorah’s agreement because, regardless of what he chose, Daenerys would find out one way or the other. The Old Bear knew that he didn't have an option anymore. The only chance of her agreeing would be if it came from him personally. If she had to find out from Bruda...she would likely feed him to one of her dragons. He summoned up what little courage he had and pushed open the door. Daenerys was leaning on one of the chairs, a glass of red wine in her hand and a thin white gown wrapped around her body. She looked over at him as he entered, a smile dancing on her lips as she took in the sight of her love. He was still a magnificent sight, a strong, tall man with a handsome face. She had to remind herself every day of how lucky she truly was to have the throne and him at the same time. But, just like her other closest confidante, Bruda, Jorah had been acting suspiciously for some time now. He’d pretended to not know what this seemingly important and massive secret was but she could tell he actually did. She’d been patient enough to give him the time he needed to address these concerns with her but she was steadily growing more frustrated. If she was the Queen, people couldn’t be keeping things from her, even those she cared deeply about.

“You’ve been longer than I expected,” she greeted. “I was growing worried.”

“I just had...matters to attend to,” he vaguely answered as he removed his armour to get more comfortable, although he had contemplated keeping it on just to be on the safe side.

Daenerys sat further forward, placing the cup on the table. “You’ve been saying that a lot recently. I’d go as far as saying you’ve been very evasive around me, which isn’t like you.”

“I’m just a busy man, Khaleesi. Things to do, people to order about.”

“Things sort themselves out eventually. People figure out what they have to do after a certain time. Both things that can wait normally.” She stood up, crossing the room silently, her gown drifting across the floor to make it seem like she was floating on air. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Jorah bowed his head and led her to the edge of the bed, the both of them sitting down on it. “The Council has growing concerns about your relationship with the North. Mainly Sansa Stark since she is the most powerful person in the region.”

“And yet I have ten times the power that she has and that’s me being generous. That isn’t something to trouble the greatest political minds of the kingdom. Or do I need to replace you all?”

“It’s an issue that could grow out of hand if it isn’t dealt with promptly.”

“Again...I keep you all here to figure out such conundrums.”

“Lord Varys thinks that he has a solution to it all.” 

“Then why do you look so sombre? What is it? I’m tired of not being told about things that are happening under my roof.”

Jorah looked at her for a moment, those gorgeous eyes that he could drown in if he wasn’t too careful. This was the moment. He wasn’t going to have a better opportunity than this. “He thinks that it would be a good idea if...I marry you. Or you marry me. That’s probably the more appropriate way of phrasing it since you’re the Queen and I’m just one of your knights.” He was rambling, he knew that. But the emotionless expression on her face as he broke the news was starting to unnerve him, making him even more uncomfortable than he already was. She simply looked at him for a few moments, unmoving. There was no way for him to tell what thoughts were running through her head.

“Marriage?” she finally uttered, although her tone was frustratingly neutral. “Between us two.”

Jorah nodded his head. “He believes, and the rest of the council concur, that, because I’m from the North, it would send out a positive image. That the Crown is going to be tied to that kingdom and not forget about it like many other rulers have done.”

She seemed to mull this over. She hadn’t killed him so far, which he had to take as a good sign. “And what do you think about this? You don’t seem particularly thrilled about the notion.” Could he detect a hint of hurt in her voice? Was she truly thinking that he didn't care for her that much?

“I...I just think that, because of my reputation and what I did when I was younger and more foolish, it could cause more damage than heal.”

“And what would happen if that was the case?”

“Well...Bear Island wouldn’t be your biggest supporters. I reckon, though, that most Northerners have forgotten about me since it was so long ago.”

“Bear Island already doesn’t like me judging from reports we’ve had. They’re an avid supporter of Lady Stark. So there’s nothing to lose there.”

“Are you...contemplating this?” His tone told her that he couldn’t quite believe she was even considering this.

“Why wouldn’t I? I love you and a ruler normally has to marry.”

“I love you too but you are no normal ruler. I suspected that you would be against it because you want to be independent.”

“There’s a fine line between being independent and isolated. By marrying you, I wouldn’t be throwing away my power. You wouldn’t be king. You’d be my prince.”

“Is this you...agreeing?”

Then she smiled, a brilliant grin that lit up the night around them. “It would make the bond between us official. How could I ever be against that?” She planted a searing kiss on his lips, their eyes drifting closed as she pushed him down onto the bed. When they broke apart, she rested her head on his chest.

“I’ll...tell the Council.”

“I’ll do it. They probably wouldn’t believe it coming from you.”

“Bruda most likely wouldn’t since he thinks you’re far too good for me.” 

Her smile dropped at the mention of the warlock as she thought back to his previous words. “Bruda,” she whispered gently.

“What’s wrong?”

“The main reason that a ruler marries is so that they can have children to carry on their lineage. But...I can’t give you that. You know that.” Tears stung her eyes as she saw his troubled blue ones.

“That isn’t the most important thing. Being together is.”

“Maybe for us. But...for the Realm...it needs security and I can’t give it that.”

“You can’t be having doubts about being Queen.” After all they’d been through...surely she wouldn’t give in because of this.

“Of course not. But what if there was a way for me to give it the security it required.”

“You just said that you couldn’t.”

“Bruda said that he could help,” Daenerys told him. “He was hurt that I hadn’t told him about the price I’d paid to try and save Khal Drogo. But, despite that, he said that he could help.”

“You think that...he could make it so you can have children again?”

“Could I let him do it? Magic and my body haven’t mixed well throughout my life. Magic was the thing that took away my son from me.”

“So maybe it’s the one thing that can bring the possibility back. Has he ever turned you wrong before? He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, you know that.”

“I’ll talk to him at some point. He said that he wanted to anyway.” She glanced at Jorah, wiping away the few tears that were still staining her cheeks. “But...for now...I think we have cause to celebrate.” After all of the worrying he’d gone through, Jorah was more than willing to allow her to jump on top of him, the gown long forgotten.


	8. Thrones and Miracles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Bruda hopes one unveiling will go well, he also faces a tough decision with Daenerys

“Does he enjoy torturing us, is that?” Daenerys grumbled as she strolled through the maze of corridors that led to the Great Hall of the Keep. A protection detail of soldiers marched in formation behind her, as much a part of her as the black dress that stopped just short of her feet and the crown on top of her head that she’d been specifically told to wear. She didn't really need it, especially when she was this deep inside the castle, since there was no possibility of anyone who wanted to harm her getting close to her. But Jorah had been stubborn and unrelenting when it came to her being protected at all times. They had gone through too much hardship to lose her because they became lackadaisical or naive. He was the one who she was talking to, since they had both been woken up in the early hours, with the sun only just beginning to kiss the tops of the tallest buildings in the city below. That was the reason why she wasn’t in the best of moods and only one man could ever be responsible.

“It’s obviously urgent if he needs our presence right away,” Jorah suggested, trying to calm her down.

“Or, like I just put forward, he simply wants to mess with us. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“And, if that’s the case, what happens then?” Jorah was quite frightened to find out, having experience of her temper when it properly kicked in. 

“Then we’ll see how much his magic can truly save him.” Daenerys had a dangerous glint in her eyes as she spoke, worsening her partner’s concern.  _ Partner _ . When she looked at him, she still couldn’t believe that she was going to marry him. In truth, she would only be completely happy once the ceremony was done and it was official. Fate often had the tendency to mess with her plans so was still knowledgeable of the fact that something could change between now and when it eventually happened. They’d hardly discussed at all anyway, what with the tourney happening as well. They couldn’t be focusing on two major events at the same time, otherwise the stress levels across the council would reach rather troubling heights. She presumed that the tournament was the cause behind Bruda’s meeting but couldn’t think of what would make it so annoyingly urgent. If it wasn’t something serious, she wasn’t too sure that she could promise not to attack him.

She was somewhat happy to see that the majority of her council members were just as grumpy and sleep-deprived as she was. If she was going to suffer, they could have the courtesy to do the same at least. Davos’ hair was more tussled than usual, looking like he had just gotten up from bed, which was the likely scenario. Tyrion, so often the punch line of jokes concerning monstrous and deformed appearances, truly resembled the creatures his tormentors thought of; his hair was messy, his beard was unkempt, his eyes were red and puffy, and his breath had the unmistakable scent of the alcohol he’d been consuming the night before. Bronn was smirking at his friend’s disgruntled nature, even if he didn't look too much better. The truth of keeping a positive mindset was to simply not care about your appearance. He’d learnt that a long time ago. He preferred to be judged on his skills with a sword rather than how glowing his skin was. The only two who looked presentable were Missandei, who somehow looked as radiant as she normally did, taking Tyrion’s breath away in the process, and Varys, who had found the time to powder his cheeks and put on a long golden robe. The only tell of his lowered standards was the absence of any perfume, which accounted for the scowl on his face.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion greeted, bowing deeply in a show of respect that he was programmed to do. Daenerys tried to ignore the slight stagger as he struggled to keep his balance. “The next time you organise a morning meeting, could you have the common decency to give me some warning. Preferably a week’s notice so I can properly prepare myself.”

“If only I had been the one to call you,” she replied. “Any complaints you have can be taken up with Bruda, who I presume is waiting for us behind these doors.”

“Would you be insulted if I attempted to strangle him? You can lock me up or even execute me. It would be entirely worth it.” Tyrion clenched his hands as if he were doing the act right there, his teeth gritted together as he pictured the satisfying image. 

“If you can beat me to him, he is all yours.” They moved out of the way as she stepped forward, two guards pushing the doors open. The warlock was shifting around the raised dais where she normally greeted guests. Melisandre was constantly pulling on his sleeve in the vain hope of making him stand still for a few seconds at a time. Gendry, standing a few metres away from the former Red Woman as he still didn't completely trust her, watched their interactions bemusedly before he straightened up as the party entered. Daenerys’ focus, however, was on the object that was with them on the platform. It suddenly made sense why he had called this meeting. Something was covered in a large sheet of cloth, dragons woven onto it in an intricate pattern. And that something was obviously the throne she had been waiting for with little patience. She could hear her advisors almost shouting at Bruda for the early wake up call, most of them promising that there would be severe retribution, but she tuned it out as she walked towards what he’d created for her. She began to walk up the steps that led to it, her warlock looking at her nervously.

“With Lord Baratheon now having some rather large extra duties,” he said, gesturing to said lord, “we thought that it was prudent to get this task done as soon as possible. I knew how tired you were of waiting.”

“I worked through the night the past few days,” Gendry added, not wanting her to feel sorry for him but for her to appreciate the effort that had gone into crafting it. “I would have been able to do it faster if it wasn’t for Bruda standing over me as we got close to finishing it.”

The mage put his hands up in mock apology. “I was just making sure that it was perfect. This is going to be here for a long time. If there was an imperfection, it would have driven me insane for the rest of the time I’m here for.”

“If only,” the blacksmith muttered. “Then maybe I’d get a moment’s peace. It’s like you expected me to make a mistake.”

“Well, when you think about it, I hardly know you. You’re here because Davos liked you...should I lower my standards to his level?”

“I heard that, Bruda,” the master of ships commented with a glare. “Any other time, such jibes would be taken in good spirits. But I’m coming here on the back of three hours worth of sleep at a push.”

Daenerys raised her hand again, still not saying anything, still staring at the hidden treasure in front of her. She didn't want this moment ruined by their incessant bickering, even if she would have normally found it highly amusing. “Can I see it?”

“Of course you can,” Bruda said softly. He understood how big a moment this was for her. This was the confirmation she desired of her winning the throne at last. This was the first step in making real change across the Seven Kingdoms. “Do you want to do the honours yourself?”

She nodded and tentatively placed her hand on one of the arms. Even through the cloth, she could feel the coolness of the metal underneath it. She ran her hand over the bumps and the strange shapes she was yet to see. After one more moment of hesitation, Daenerys taking a deep breath, she grasped a section of the cloth in her fist and pulled it away. She was left speechless when she saw it. The throne consisted of black and gold metal melded together to create a swirling pattern across the chair. At the base were two golden stallions rearing up to ward off attacks and the top was decorated in three dragons, all decorated with fine jewels that glinted spectacularly as the morning sun filtered into the chamber. It was much larger than the Iron Throne and much more appealing to look at. There was even a red and gold cushion on the seat to make it more comfortable for her. She fought back tears as she glanced at Bruda, who was trying to not make it obvious that he was watching her agitatedly. 

“Bruda…” she whispered.

“It’s rubbish, isn’t it? I’ll make you a new one! Blame him!” He pointed at Gendry, who huffed loudly and rolled his eyes. “It’s all his fault. He said that he was good with metal. He tricked me. Deceived me, even!”

Daenerys smiled at the old man, placing a hand on his arm to reassure him. “It’s perfect. It’s exactly like the throne I dreamed about.”

“Really?” he asked sceptically.

“Truly. You’ve outdone yourself. As you have, Lord Baratheon.”

Gendry bowed so that he could hide his blush. “It was an honour to work on it, your Grace.” Bruda had been right about one thing. This would be here for a long time, meaning people would look upon his creation for decades to come. Most blacksmiths dreamt of achieving such a feat and he’d managed it.

“I can’t tell you how much a weight that is off my shoulders! Now...are you going to sit on it?” Bruda wondered, not wanting to rush her but also being incredibly impatient. “A throne is only a throne when it is with a ruler. And such a fine throne...well just imagine how amazing a ruler must be to be able to match it.”

“Are you complimenting me, Bruda?” Daenerys matched his smirk with one of her own. 

“I can try from time to time. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep.” He held out his hand, palm up, with one arched eyebrow. She held onto it as she slowly lowered herself down onto the throne, her crown’s black accents matching the swirls of the chair. She placed her arms on the supports by her side and looked down at everyone in the room, watching this momentous occasion. She instantly knew that it was...right.

“You look splendid, Khaleesi,” Jorah said as he knelt on one knee. “No one has ever suited a throne as much as you.”

“People will see this when they enter and have no doubts about your place here,” Tyrion added. “No one could deny that this is your time.”

“Which is exactly what the Realm needs,” Varys pointed out with a small smile. “The undeniable truth of a ruler’s right to...rule. You are the Queen and that throne cements that point.”

“You’ll also notice the two horses,” Bruda whispered into her ear. Daenerys nodded curiously. “To represent the beginning of your journey. The mighty stallion that was Khal Drogo and...the stallion that should have been your son.” She covered her mouth at his words. “That was a rather late addition to the project after I made that...discovery. Gendry was far from pleased when I mentioned it.”

“You are a miracle worker, Bruda,” she replied. “I should reward you handsomely.”

“You already have by keeping me here.”

“As if I’d get rid of you.”

“And it’s good that you think that I can produce miracles because...don’t forget...I’m still open for a discussion if you want one.” He gave her a serious look, reminding her of what he had hinted at.

“Name the time and I’ll be there.”

**********

The sight of the Inn at the Crossroads was indeed a welcome one. The journey from north to south was undoubtedly and obviously a long one and the Kingsroad was not as well maintained in some parts compared to others, meaning riding along it became more tiring than it should have been. Even with their bountiful resources, they were making sure to ration strictly. Jon knew that things could easily go wrong very quickly and, if that happened, it was always best to have food on hand. They’d all been looking forward to having a proper cooked meal, not one cooked over a small fire where all sorts of creatures would be attracted. Most of the men were also dreaming about the prospect of downing a tankard or two of ale as soon as they went in. It was going to be a very lucrative day for the owners of the establishment, Jon knew that. 

The size of their party naturally garnered attention and the banners of the Stark direwolf made it abundantly clear who was leading the trail of men, horses and carts. Jon was tense as they slowed down, allowing their horses to be tied up so that they could be watered and have a much needed rest. He knew that it was extremely unlikely for any trouble to be caused, with the kingdom not at war and the North not being the enemy of the Crown like it had been since King Robert Baratheon’s death all those years ago. But it was a part of his natural cautiousness to be on high alert, even if his sister was protected by a large number of trained and highly skilled men. It was just that he felt he was a better fighter than all of them, which wasn’t down to an irrational cockiness but fact and experience, so, if push came to shove, he would be the one with Sansa’s life in his hands.

What he didn't expect was the inn to be so crowded inside or the fact that their arrival didn't seem to be that exciting for the locals. The explanation for that was clear when he made it the banners of a fearsome bear. The House Mormont had seemingly beat them to their destination and he couldn’t work out whether Sansa was going to be too happy about that. For now, at least, she was busy dealing with the barkeep, hoping that there would be some rooms available for them for the night. They couldn’t risk travelling through the night - a group of their size was still susceptible to the more courageous thieves and bandits that the Kingsroad bred.

The portly man with the shiny dome of a head was shaking his head though. “I’m sorry, my lady. Truly. But there is no way I could provide a roof for all of your men. Even if we weren’t so busy, I would be struggling. I’d be happy and proud to serve your men food and drink, however.”

Sansa sighed. “That was a given since that’s the main reason we stopped here. Is there no possible way of gaining shelter.”

“Not for your number.”

“We don’t need a roof,” Jon pointed out. Tormund was looking at her as if to say the mere notion was an insult. “The Free Folk don’t rely on such luxuries. I’m sure the usual tents will suffice like they normally do.”

Sansa didn't like how he was talking as if he was one of them, still clinging onto the hope of changing his mind so that he stayed with her at Winterfell. She had been hoping that this trip together would provide the perfect opportunity to do so but this was the first time he had even remotely spoken to her or in her presence since their argument back at the castle. “What about my men?”

“They are Northern men. They can cope with a tent and a few blankets. I reckon that, after a few drinks, they won’t even notice their sleeping conditions.”

“I couldn’t...I couldn’t, with a sound mind, sleep in a bed when the men who fight for me do not.” And that was the crux of the matter, Jon realised. She wanted to be a ruler who respected her people and didn't show off her wealth. She was very like Daenerys in that sense, which was why he couldn’t understand why they didn't get along. Maybe she was doing it purposefully to be like her so that she could be seen as a reasonable substitute. He struggled to see into her mind at times. 

“She’ll take a room,” he said, brokering no argument. She gave him a small smile, happy that he was speaking to her again. It signalled the hope of them repairing the damage that had happened. “Your finest bed.”

“Right away,” the barkeep responded, bowing his head. He shuffled off, gesturing for a woman to follow him who was obviously going to be the one to make sure the room was perfect for their guest. As he watched them hurry away, the hairs on the back of his neck bristled when a voice sounded behind them.

“Lady Sansa...I thought I heard your triumphant arrival. I had to see you with my own eyes to make sure it was true.” Petyr Baelish stood there with a smirk on his face, his goatee beard perfectly trimmed like it normally was. It seemed that the Northern life wasn’t affecting his grooming. Sansa didn't know how to act around him. He was, after all, the one who had helped her escape King’s Landing, even if his motives had been less than ideal and honest. But she wouldn’t have married Ramsey Bolton if it wasn’t for him, who had somehow managed to be an even worse man than Joffrey, which she wasn’t one to say lightly. But had he known what sort of a person Ramsey truly was? She didn't know and didn't really want to find out. What she did know was that the suffering she had been through was down to him but, at the same time, she would never have returned to Winterfell if it wasn’t for his intervention. He was an infuriating conundrum, something he probably prided himself on, even more so now he was advising Lady Mormont of Bear Island. “It feels like an age since we were last in one another’s company.”

“That’s because you fled Winterfell at the first sign of trouble,” she said coolly. She could see that he hadn’t been expecting such a response from her, which pleased her.

“You were a married woman. My job was done. I promised to take you home and I succeeded. Once that was done, I had nothing left there, which is why I started my next venture.”

“So I was nothing more than a mission in your eyes?” She didn't understand why she was hurt at his words.

“No, of course not. You already know of my love for your mother and, therefore, for you. I wouldn’t have helped you otherwise.”

“Meaning you wouldn’t have helped me if I was someone else? You weren’t acting out of the goodness of your heart?”

Baelish smiled. “You have spun a rather splendid web of words, my lady. It seems that any answer I give won’t be a good one. Maybe it’s best if I keep my mouth shut for the time being.”

“It’s possible that that’s the lesson I’m trying to teach you,” she shot back. Jon had to say that he was proud of the way she was handling herself. Littlefinger was a renowned political master but she was definitely holding her own despite his best efforts.

“A lesson I’m grateful to be taught. It would have saved me a lot of hardship in my past.”

“Frankly, I doubt you know the meaning of hardship...my Lord.”

He glanced at her warily before plastering a smile on his face once again. “Where are my manners. I should introduce you to my employer.” He walked over to one of the tables in the dining area that was crammed full with shouting and laughing men. Through the crowd, a young girl with a stern face appeared, the soldiers parting to move out of her way. She obviously commanded a level of respect that was unusual for a person of her age and, Sansa thought darkly, her gender. “Lady Lyanna Mormont...I’m sure that you have heard about Lady Sansa Stark.”

“It’s an honour,” Lyanna said in a strong voice. “I couldn’t believe that a woman would be able to fight through all of the wretched men that were fighting for Winterfell...but here you are. I’m glad that the Mormonts only see one queen, your Grace...the one in the North.”

“Lady is just fine,” Sansa amended. “I’m afraid that I’m no queen. I came close to that title and I’m thankful that I got away in time.”

“Maybe you’re not a queen in the strange southern way that seems to define what the rest of us have to contend with. But you should know that you have strong support in my homelands. This tourney could do a lot of good in showing the new  _ queen _ what strength you have.”

**********

Daenerys didn't know what to do with her hands as she nervously sat waiting for something to happen. She was usually the one who made things happen herself but, this time, all she could do was be patient and hope that Bruda could do something to help her. She hadn’t wanted to in order to protect herself, but she had become worryingly optimistic about their chances. It was perfectly reasonable - he had killed the Night King and fought off a dragon, as well as curing Jorah of greyscale amongst many other things, so surely curing her of whatever ills had been put onto her would be relatively simple by his standards. She wasn’t allowing herself to think of the possibility that it wouldn’t work, even if Bruda had made sure to be cautious in the assurances he’d given her. She’d spoken at length with Jorah about it, outlining how the warlock knew that any interference with her body could be dangerous. He’d naturally been wary of it when she mentioned that part, asking her if it was really worth the risk. Daenerys had explained that he couldn’t possibly know what it was like to lose her son before he came into the world. It wasn’t meant to be an insult or a scathing remark, just a simple, agonising fact. He’d wanted to inform the council of what they were planning to do but she would hear none of it, not wanting them to be worried or get involved in such a private matter. Jorah had then wondered whether she would want him there with her, to support her if need be. She’d politely declined, knowing it was something she had to face on her own.

Bruda lowered himself into the chair next to her. They were in his and Melisandre’s chamber, although the sorceress had been understanding enough to let them do this in private, deciding to instead work through the night on a new form of sleeping draught Marwyn was attempting to concoct. The warlock looked at Daenerys with those kind eyes of his, a comforting sight for her. His staff was off to one side, leaning on the wall, since he didn't expect to need it for this. It was on hand though just in case he suddenly required it. He was grateful that she had decided to open up a bit more to him about it but didn't want to push her too much. It was a delicate situation and he didn't need her getting angry at him.

“So…” he eventually started speaking. “Why don’t you start off by telling me how it happened. If I know the root cause of the problem, it might be easier for me to counteract it. That’s if you want to. I know that it must have been a traumatic experience.”

Daenerys let out a shuddering breath. “Khal Drogo got injured in a fight. I told him that he needed it dressing but he wouldn’t listen. It eventually festered like I knew it would and he was on the brink of death.” Tears stung her eyes and Bruda reached out to hold her hand. “As fate would have it, that was around the same time as we captured a woman called Mirri Maz Duur, who claimed that she would be able to bring him back.” 

Bruda could tell where this was going. It was even worse than he had dreaded. He couldn’t comprehend how much she had been through in her short life. “And she made certain promises…” he reasoned.

“A life for a life,” she finished softly, looking away from him. “I was so foolish. I thought that she meant the horse but...my son…”

“You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

“Oh, I don’t. Don’t worry. She paid for what she did. But the magic she used left me tainted. I knew from that point that I wouldn’t be able to have my own children again.”

“Blood magic. The most potent form and often the deadliest. I’ve had words with Melisandre for using it in the past.”

“Is it too potent for you to deal with?” she dared to ask. She didn't want to hear the answer.

Bruda looked at her seriously. “I don’t know. I need to get a read of what’s happening inside you.” He moved from his chair to kneel on the floor in front of her. He reached his hand out towards her stomach, just stopping short when he got close to the dress she was wearing. “If you’d be so kind…” He gestured to the fabric and she nodded her head. She stood up and unfastened the back of it, allowing it to drop to the floor as she sat back down. She should have been shy around him, never being in such a compromising position with him. But she knew that she trusted him and that was all that mattered.

“You’ve probably thought about this happening for a long time,” she tried to joke. 

He smirked at her attempt of levity. “There’s no time to delve into the lecherous parts of my mind otherwise we’d be here for hours.”

“So you don’t deny it, warlock?” She was on dangerous territory here. Why was she still speaking?

“You’re a beautiful woman, your Grace. But I’ll leave the romance to Jorah until you grow tired of him. For now...just tell me if this hurts.” He softly placed his hand on her bare stomach and a golden glow spread from his fingertips. She grimaced in slight discomfort but it was tolerable for the time being. It was an unusual warmth that spread across her body, feeling connected to the man in front of her. All too soon, he moved away again with a frown on his face, which didn't fill her with confidence.

“What is it?”

“The blood magic has been inside of you for so long that it's poisoned you. I can feel its inherent darkness, fighting against your natural brightness.”

“So...it’s too late to do anything.”

“I didn't say that. This woman...Mirri Maz Duur...was not a powerful magic user by any stretch of the definition. I could destroy every particle of her magic that’s currently still affecting you with a click of my fingers. But there would be a reaction. Such a strong force flowing through you could damage your body too. Possibly kill you.” He lifted her chin up after she let her head drop. “Meaning I need you to protect yourself.”

“How could I possibly do that?”

“You have your own magic. You brought dragons into this world. You can survive the hottest of flames. That’s down to you having an essence of magic.”

“Like you? And Melisandre?” For some reason, she had never thought of it like that and she didn't know why. Maybe it was because of the mistrust of users of magic she had; Bruda had slowly been changing her mindset on that topic. 

“Well...not nearly as much magic as us,” he admitted. “You can’t wield it just like your dragons can’t perform spells with the magic they’re made of. But it’s still there, coursing through your veins. You’re even more special than you realised.”

“You’ll make me blush, you old scoundrel.” She laughed as he winked at her, buoyed by his new confidence. Could this really be happening? “What do I need to do then?”

“Concentrate. Concentrate as hard as you ever have on the dragons you call children. Focus on the dragon that you claim to be. It should form a protective layer against my own magic, leaving me free to get rid of the toxic sorcery.”

“And what if it doesn’t form that layer? What then?”

He looked at her darkly, practically ageing in front of her as he weighed up their choices. “We’re not going to even remotely think about that. Just believe that it’ll work and it will.”

“That sounds a lot like prayer to me.”

“Then you’re lucky. Because you’re not praying to some god. You’re praying to something much stronger than one of those. Me.”

Daenerys nodded her head again, almost forgetting that she was completely naked in front of him. He made her feel so comfortable...only Jorah had been able to do the same since Khal Drogo. “You really think you can do this.”

“Do you doubt me? This is your last chance. You can walk away now perfectly safe, knowing that you will never have children, knowing that the Targaryen line ends with you. Or...we can go through with this. You can risk everything you have worked for, all of the turmoil your people have been through...in the hope that we will succeed here today and make it possible for a dynasty to flourish.”

She was surprised by how easily the answer came to her. “I trust you.” 

Bruda smiled and cracked his wrists, preparing himself for this trial. “Remember: concentrate. You’re going to feel a lot of pain but you have to try and ignore that. Good luck, Daenerys.” He placed his hands on her stomach once again, the same golden energy appeared just as it had done before...and she started to scream.


	9. Dismissals and Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruda owns up to his actions as the Realm teeters on the brink of collapse

Daenerys lay in bed with her eyes closed, her skin pale and clammy. She was looking completely different to the beautiful and vibrant young woman she normally was. They were thankful, at least, for the fact that her chest was slowly and steadily rising. It was the one indication they had that she was still clinging onto life. Bruda had done all he could do, believing he had removed the black magic Mirri Maz Duur had performed on her half a lifetime ago., before hurrying her to her private quarters. His old bones had been able to support the weight of her limp body fairly well. He knew that he had been driven solely by adrenaline, by the need to keep her safe. Part way through the ritual, although that was far too spiritual a word for what he’d done, she’d let out one final scream before falling unconscious. At the moment, he couldn’t tell whether that was a good thing. He’d sent for Grandmaester Marwyn, who was currently monitoring her stability and occasionally adding soothing and cooling ointments to Daenerys’ skin. In truth, this was far beyond his knowledge since the problem originated outside of the natural world he’d spent decades learning about. Melisandre, with her previous understanding of blood magic, was with them too, there to see if anything went wrong that the others wouldn’t be able to pick up on. Missandei, fighting back tears at the sight of her queen, had been tasked to keep a cold cloth on her head to maintain her temperature. Jorah, meanwhile, was sitting in the corner, having not said a word since he’d been summoned. He hadn’t known how to react when he’d seen her at first and how frail she truly was. He was angry at himself for letting her go through with this but also at Bruda for being the one who’d done this to her. It made him question what his motives were, whether he’d done it more out of curiosity to see what would and could happen instead of caring about her. It made him doubt his trust in magic, already frail as it had been before he’d met the warlock.

Bruda had his hand resting on her cheek, looking at her closed eyes, just wanting to see them open again. A tumult was roaring through his head, thinking back on what they’d done. Had he made the right choice? She had been adamant about doing it so it would have been easy for him to feel guilt free and blameless. But he had been the one who suggested it to her, the one who had put it into her head that it was actually possible in the first place. She wouldn’t have been in this position, probably suffering right now, if it wasn’t for him. Maybe he’d gone too far, having grown cocky over the years. He’d thought of himself as untouchable at times but here was the physical evidence that his powers always ended up having dire consequences and that usually meant that the people he loved got hurt. He moved away from her still body, walking over to where Jorah was sitting, slumping into the chair next to him with a sigh. He rubbed his hands over his weary face in a vain attempt to wipe away some of the sleep in his eyes. He hadn’t been able to properly sleep since she’d fallen unconscious. Jorah refused to properly look at the warlock, a reaction Bruda had half expected, but he was at least willing to talk to him. The silence was even worse to contemplate than his anger at the man by his side.

“Is there any sign of improvement?” he asked eventually, stirring Bruda from his dark thoughts. His voice was emotionless, as if he didn't really want to be having a conversation with him but he had no better alternative.

“No,” Bruda answered simply, the cruel and harsh reality they were facing. “She’s the same as she has been the past few hours. Sadly.”

“It’s been too long. If it takes any more time, I fear that, even if she wakes up, she’ll be different. Possibly like what happened to Khal Drogo.”

“I’m hoping that it doesn’t come to that.”

“We all are!” Jorah snapped. “We’re all praying that she makes a full recovery from this because the other outcome would be the ultimate disaster. All of what we worked for...you could have jeopardised it in one action.”

“She was perfectly willing to do this. I told her about how dangerous it was.” Who was he trying to convince? Jorah or himself?

“You should have made it clearer. You should have told her that it wasn’t worth it. Nothing is worth risking her safety, not even the chance of her having a dynasty.”

“You know as well as I do how stubborn she can become. Once she had the idea in her head, there was no way of me convincing her to not to do this.” 

“And who’s the person that gave her the idea in the first place?” Jorah shot back. Bruda bowed his head, feeling all of his years. Maybe age was catching up to him. Not just in his tired bones but also in his mind. Was it possible that he was going senile? It had to happen at some point, he guessed. Was he fit to work for her anymore, if she woke up from the coma? “I know why you’re wanting her to wake up.”

“And why’s that?” Bruda dared to ask, a hint of anger rising in his voice. “Isn’t it obvious? I want her to survive and rule and be the queen she is destined to be. Just like you. Just like everyone else. Are you doubting my loyalties now, is that it? Do you think I did this on purpose?”

“I don’t know about all that,” Jorah admitted. “But what I do know is that you want her to wake up because, if she doesn’t, you know what will happen to you. Even if you get away from the punishment, which is unlikely, the guilt would destroy you. You wouldn’t be able to carry on living.”

“Do you think that I’m that self centred? Do you really think that, right now, I’m thinking about myself whilst she lies in bed, possibly going through something that we can’t understand?”

“Again...I don’t know.”

Bruda was about to defend his actions, even if he didn't feel in the right place to do so, when the door swung open. Tyrion marched in with an angry expression, Varys close behind. When the former saw Daenerys in the position she was in, his mouth dropped and he rushed to her side. Varys stayed a distance away, a grim expression on his face. Jorah and Bruda stood up at their entrance, standing to attention. The warlock was bracing himself for an assault of questions.

“Why wasn’t I summoned at once?” Tyrion asked accusingly, looking at the body in despair.

“Frankly, your skill set doesn’t lend to helping her,” Bruda answered, still annoyed at Jorah’s words. “You’ll only get in the way.”

“I am her Hand! I should know when our Queen is indisposed. I’m the one who will have to rule until she is better. Which is even more important when we have important families streaming into the city constantly. Perfectly good reasons for being told straight away, I’d argue. What’s wrong with her?”

“We don’t know for certain,” Marwyn answered, the response Tyrion had been dreading.

He let out an angry sigh. “What happened to her?” It was hardly a different question but it carried such a different significance.

“I did,” Bruda confessed. “Daenerys felt that I would be able to help her remove some magic that was preventing her from having any children. I told her it was possible but also that it had risks.”

“And you didn't think that this was something to put forward to the council?”

“It was a private matter.”

“She is the Queen! Nothing she does is private anymore! Because whatever happens to her has ramifications! When will she wake?”

“We don’t know.”

“Will she wake?”

“...we don’t know.”

“You don’t know a lot of things, it seems. All you appear to know is how to fuck up everything we have accomplished up to this point. If she...dies from this...what happens next?”

“The Realm would be thrown into turmoil once again,” Varys said. “We’d have another power vacuum. The relative peace we created by having her on the throne will be destroyed.”

“I did what I did for the Realm,” Bruda argued. “If this works, she will be able to have children. The dynasty will survive. A secure line of rulers for decades to come. That’s what the Realm needed.”

“The Realm is now weaker than it has been for months because of you,” Tyrion said strongly. “If she dies, thousands of others will meet the same fate. You’ve made a mistake, warlock.”

“I know. But one that might still work out for the best.”

“Be that as it may...I don’t think your presence here is in her best interest any longer. You’ve endangered her far too much with your magic.”

“I’ve also saved her countless more times. Or does that not count for anything?”

“We are eternally grateful for your service but it has come to an end. I want you gone before the sun properly rises.” His words shocked everyone in the room, even Jorah, who had been braying for blood.

“Tyrion,” Varys intervened. “Aren’t you being a little hasty here? If she wakes and finds out that you have removed one of her closest advisors…”

“Then I will explain my reasoning. But she wouldn’t be in the position of having to ‘wake up’ if it wasn’t for him. As the Hand, this is my decision and a final one.”

“It’s entirely possible that she will fully recover from this,” Marwyn tried to point out, not wanting to see the warlock gone.

“You can’t do this,” Melisandre said. “You wouldn’t be in this building without his help. Unless you were prisoners waiting for their execution.”

“No,” Bruda said quietly. “He’s right.” In truth, Tyrion was choosing the kindest option. If Daenerys died, he would have to be executed. This was by far a kinder sentence. “I obviously can’t serve her properly. She’s the queen...I can’t be risking her life so flippantly.”

“But...you can’t leave me,” she whispered. “What about my training? I’ll have to go with you.”

“You will do nothing of the sort. You will stay here and live. Marwyn will help you learn what your powers are capable of. Hopefully...you’ll be able to do better with them than I did.” He kissed her forehead lightly, a lingering kiss that spoke of the sorrow they were both feeling. “I do hope that she wakes up. And...if she does...tell her I’m sorry.” With that, he nodded his head to all of them. Tyrion wouldn’t look at him. Varys gave him a sympathetic look. Jorah held his gaze but didn't contemplate interfering. Missandei and Melisandre had matching distraught expressions for different reasons. Marwyn nodded his head back resolutely, an unspoken promise to help Bruda’s love. He picked up his staff and cloak and left the room, leaving a broken Realm behind him.

**********

She was flying. No. The other one. Falling. Floating. What was she falling from? She couldn’t remember what had brought her to this point. She couldn’t see anything other than a strange dull greyness that spread out around her, her surroundings not giving her any clues as to what she was going through. She saw her arms stretched out wind, flailing helplessly. Her hands were reaching out for something, hoping for a magical piece of support, but nothing ever came. How long had she been falling? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Days? That was something else she didn't know. Her vision was becoming dizzy and blurred, the tumultuous motion catching up to her. She was speeding up, approaching the ground even faster but also even slower. How was that possible? Where was she? A flash of blue painted the grey void, a comforting, memorable colour. As it disappeared too, she was left in a world of white as snow fell around her. She was on the ground, looking up at the unnatural blue sky as Drogon flew away with a wounded howl. Two figures were running towards her. Jorah and Bruda. She smiled. Her saviours, reaching her just in time. But their attention wasn’t focused on her. No, she turned her head in the direction of their eye line, seeing a solitary figure. One she had thought was long dead. Why had she believed that? They were in the middle of the battle against him. She wanted to ask Bruda what they had to do to stop the Night King. She knew what was fated to happen. The warlock would tell them to leave to face the monster on his own. She was willing to accept it this time but, unlike what she expected, he instead turned to her and sent a beam of magic straight at her, impacting her directly on the chest. Then darkness once more.

She was in a world of fire. For some reason, she felt that she remotely recognised the place. Then it clicked. She was down in the streets of King’s Landing, the ones she looked down upon every night. The ones that she had vowed to protect and was obviously failing at doing so. Flames erupted along the city walls, trapping everyone who was inside, the common folk running about aimlessly, terrified, trying to protect their loved ones. They were abandoning their homes, believing that the open space would provide them with more safety. She knew that they would be proven wrong. The fires were closing in, wild and uncontrollable. Flames even her dragons couldn’t match. She saw them hovering helplessly above the city, wanting to protect their mother. The throngs of fire grew hotter and larger, engulfing the public to the sound of terrible, agonising screams. There was no noise other than pain and suffering, her citizens unified, something she had wanted to achieve but not in this way. But as the fires purified their bodies, the people changed morphed. They became the soldiers of the dead, turning their ire onto her. They moaned that she had failed them and let them down. There was no one there to protect her this time, no gallant hero running in to tell her how to solve this issue. Some faces were definitely recognisable to her but they were so twisted and damaged that it was hard, almost impossible, to place them. She was sure that she could see one unchanged person, a woman. She was smiling at her, a pleasant sight if it hadn’t been for the circumstances. She reached her hand out towards her and then she was gone again. 

She was sitting in front of a tree, the largest she had ever seen. The fields around her were a luxurious green, giving off a wonderful fresh scent. She ran her fingers through the blades of grass, allowing herself to become one with nature. The ground seemed to thrum with energy and, for some reason, she knew that that power was emanating from the tree. It cast a shadow over her, shielding her from the sun beating down upon her body. Something about it called to her, like she was a part of it somehow. She had a vague understanding that it was connected to many things, those that had been lost to the world, those that were still living and thriving, and those that were yet to grace the kingdoms. All connected to this...tree of life, she wanted to call it. All equally a part of its weaving, crooked branches. It was an ugly thing to look at and yet, at the same time, the most beautiful sight she had laid her eyes upon in her short life. She was growing relaxed, embracing this side of her character, this revelation that she was a part of something much greater than her. Then she stared in horror, quickly standing up, as the brown bark turned white and pale, flaking off in some places. The green leaves became poisoned and red but they clung onto the branches that were now wilting. The vibrancy of nature was lost to her, replaced by snow once more. The tree continued to stand tall but, rather than light, it now pulsed with darkness, its seed spreading across the kingdom, infecting everything she had grown to love.

The snow melted away. The ground gave way, sucking her in. She was falling once more but for a shorter time on this occasion. She was soon seated upon her new throne, the chamber empty and dark. Had she been asleep? Had she simply been dreaming? She wanted to stand up and fetch someone but she couldn’t move. Her arms were fixed to the throne, its metal coming to life and wrapping itself around her. She closed her eyes in fear as she tried to struggle but there was no point. As she opened them again, she realised that she was no longer alone. A lone figure watched as she fought the bonds that trapped her. The stallions at the base grew and took on the persona of the animals they represented, dragging the throne towards the person. As she got closer to this mystery intruder, she watched in horror and disbelief as she changed. Orange hair. So very much like her in spirit and fight, in the belief that she knew what was right when others didn't. Then red hair, a younger face but still very much like her. This time, they were united in stubbornness, in wanting to change the world in the way they thought was best but there was tension there too. The clashing of wanting togetherness and orderly ruling against preferring separation and self interest. The figure changed again. Black hair, again just like her but masculine. Larger than her, stronger. Yet even more similar than the two previous. Unlike the others, she was afraid of this one because he seemed to have a right to be there. He stood tall and proud, looking down upon her. He reached out towards her and she tried to get away from his clutches. But he wasn’t wanting to grasp her. His intention was to claim the throne as his own. She shouted at him to stop, screaming that it was hers and hers only. But he wouldn’t listen. She continued to yell until her voice gave out.

Daenerys woke up clutching her chest, sweat dripping from her forehead. Her bedroom was dark and cold but not empty. There were people sitting around where she had been sleeping. Why had she been sleeping? She remembered Bruda and what they had been doing. Unimaginable pain. A fire within her that she had been told to fight against. But she had been taught all her life to embrace the fire so it had been difficult. She felt different now than when she had been awake before. More...whole. What had changed inside her? She needed...wanted...demanded answers. As she tried to sit up, the movement stirred Jorah, whose head was slumped against her body. His eyes were wide as he saw her looking at him, seemingly alive and well. He wanted to reach and kiss her but knew that she would still be fragile. He simply held her and rocked her gently, soothing her and telling her that everything would be okay. But Daenerys had seen that that wouldn’t be the case. Had it all been true, what she had witnessed? The flames, the snow, the people...all she could do was sink into his embrace, putting those thoughts to the back of her mind.

**********

Bruda lurked through the streets despondently, still replaying the incident over and over again in his head. He hadn’t been thinking straight, that was clear to see. And it had cost him the one good thing to have happened in his life for decades. He was sure that he had wanted to help her but had Jorah been right in his insinuations? Was there a hidden motive behind his actions? Curiosity? The need to know everything that was going on? He shouldn’t have even been bothered about what she had been through. It was a part of her life that hadn’t involved him, that didn't remotely concern him. So why had he grown to be so focused on the subject? Maybe it was an irrational sense of jealousy and wounded pride - she had spent the majority of her journey to the throne not needing him. Compared to Jorah and Missandei, he had hardly spent any time with her. By solving this problem from a time when they had both been strangers to one another, he would have intrinsically linked himself to the beginning of her destiny. He was an old fool and that harsh truth stung deeply. 

He had spent the day wandering the myriad of areas in King’s Landing, not wanting to leave straight away. One day would give him enough time to find out she was okay and had woken but it also wouldn’t be long enough for her to die, meaning the angry mob wouldn’t be searching for him just yet. No one paid any attention to him. For all they knew, he was a lonely old man wasting away his hours by strolling about the capital. His staff would get strange looks from time to time but an irritated glare would send any prying eyes turning away. He was in no mood to be spotted. When the people found out about his dismissal, his dishonourable discharge, they would probably rejoice and celebrate...if they actually knew who he was. They likely viewed him as a poison; magic was still looked upon in distrust and quiet panic. It was best for Daenerys to be rid of him in a sense because his presence would only taint her reputation at a time when she needed everything to go smoothly. This was just one example of that physically happening. He was constantly mentally berating himself for his rash way of thinking - if Daenerys had wanted to try it in the small hope that it would work, which she did, he could have easily waited until the kingdoms were more secure and less likely to go into turmoil due to one singular mistake. 

He was faintly aware that it was growing late, the darkness seeping in across the city, bringing with it the more gruesome flavours the capital had to offer. Even a man of his talents shouldn’t have been walking around at this time. He was inviting trouble. Maybe he wanted something to happen, he wasn’t too sure. If someone tried to do something, possibly attack him...he would have loved to have taken his anger out on someone. He realised that that wouldn’t help the situation he was in but he also knew that there was no improving it either. What did he have to lose? He’d lost his position in the council, his closeness to a ruler he could fully support, and the woman he hadn’t admitted he loved. Yet another mistake. Life was full of them but his more than most. He found himself at an inn close to the city gates which travellers wouldn’t often frequent. It was a perfect spot to make a hasty getaway if he had to. Inside, the atmosphere was jovial and happy, more a result of the volume of alcohol obviously being consumed rather than something good happening. He managed to order a drink, producing some of the few gold coins he had in his cloak, and found a seat at a small table in the back corner of the room. As he sipped away at the liquid that was having very little effect on him, much to his consternation, he watched the other people as they laughed and sang, so aware of the struggles of life but still enjoying it. He would have found it a warming sight on any other day. He might have even joined in. Instead, he kept to himself, trying not to think of what he had to do next. He had no idea where he would go. North, somewhere near he had once lived? That was if he could remember where that was. He could return east and start his life again, just as he had done years before meeting Daenerys. 

He set his head back on the wall, stroking his beard. Neither were abundantly pleasant propositions. He wanted to stay and live here but knew that wouldn’t be possible anymore. Being close to the throne and  _ her _ would be too much of a temptation. The sooner he left, the better. It was just going to be difficult taking that first step outside of the city walls. As he allowed his eyes to flicker over the crowd once more, he became aware of the fact that someone was watching him. A young woman, staring at him, focused on nothing else. Her eyebrows were furrowed as if she were confused by his presence. As his gaze matched hers, she smiled, something he hadn’t been expecting. Maybe she was a woman of the night, hoping to take from him the little money he had left. She looked far too respectable for that though. He was immediately intrigued by her and he didn't want to admit that he was pleasantly relieved when she started to wander over to his table. As she got closer, her features became more discernible. He would have to say that she was pretty, beautiful even. She was slightly younger than Melisandre but probably a few years older than Daenerys. Her slim figure was covered in a tight purple cloak, a black shirt and pants of the same colour. Her vibrant flaming hair was more orange than Melisandre’s, her sharp cheekbones more pronounced. Her hazel eyes were still fixed on him as she gestured to the chair opposite to him. Bruda nodded his head, wanting to solve this strange puzzle.

“You were staring,” she said in greeting. He instantly picked up on the accent, definitely foreign. Similar to Melisandre’s so it was possible that she was from Asshai, although people of the Eastern cities mingled a lot more than their Westerosi counterparts. 

“So were you,” he countered, taking another sip from his tankard. 

Her eyes lit up as she realised he was going to play along with her game. “I was staring only at you because you were staring at everyone else. Why bother trying to figure out everyone in a room when you can figure out the person who has already done that for you?”

“And what if that person is wrong about their assumptions? That leaves you in a bit of a predicament. You’ve wasted all of that time and learnt nothing.”

“Are you normally wrong about things?” she wondered.

He sat forward slightly with a sad smirk on his face. “More than I care to admit.”

“Then I have already learnt everything I need to know about you. You are honest. Most of the men in here would boast about having no weaknesses but you...you are quite proud of them.”

“Weaknesses remind you that you tried something that didn't work out. They make you realise that you can’t be perfect at everything but that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Because weaknesses also highlight your strengths.”

“Why are you here tonight? You are not like anyone else in here, I can tell.” 

Bruda wondered what she meant by that. Was it his looks or something else? “Why are you here tonight? You don’t exactly fit in either.”

“The same as everyone else in this room - the tourney. People from everywhere, even from across the Narrow Sea, want to glimpse the young Queen for themselves.”

“You’ve travelled far then?”

“Yes and no. I’ve been travelling for a long time, maybe my entire life. If one never settles anywhere, can you measure the distance of where they’ve come from? Don’t think that I didn't notice that you didn't answer my question. Why are you here?”

Bruda smirked again. She was smart. “The Queen. Just like you,” he chose to answer, knowing that it was true but not in the way she would automatically think. He loved answers like that. “But I’ve decided that it’s best for me to get out of here. I’m not one for large crowds.”

“You didn't think it through then because this was always going to attract hundreds and thousands of people. You don’t strike me as someone who would be so...careless.”

“You’re acting like you know me.”

“I practically do,” she shot back. “I’m having a conversation with you. For as long as we speak, it doesn’t matter if we’ve known each other our entire lives or a few seconds.”

“Trust me, if you knew me, you wouldn’t want to be talking to me.”

“Then it’s a good job that I’m just as careless as you.” She grinned, showing off her white teeth. He knew that the majority of men, and probably most women, would fail to be not entranced by that smile. It was a magic of its own. “If you are wanting to leave the city, why are you in here?”

“I was thirsty,” he shrugged, drinking from his cup to highlight his point.

“If that was the only reason, you wouldn’t have sat down. Sitting down indicates you want to stay longer than just for one drink. Meaning...you’re still bound to this place. Your mind is fighting against your body, telling you that you should probably leave but also arguing that it’s not the right choice.”

“You’re awfully intuitive, aren’t you?”

“I’m just good at reading people. There is a war going on beneath your eyes, I can see it. A battling mind. No wonder you focus on everyone else because it’s too difficult to give yourself a moment’s peace to contemplate your next move.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“Do you really care what I think?”

He steepled his fingers against his chin, his arms leaning against the table. “...yes,” he finally said, surprised at his own answer.

“I would obviously want you to stay. Seeing as you’re proving to be excellent at conversation. You’re the most excitement I’ve had in a long time.”

“You must have an incredibly boring life.”

She laughed lightly, looking at her hands as she played with them before her eyes met his again. She arched an eyebrow. “It’s also far too dark for you to be going now. A man of your age wouldn’t survive five minutes on the road at this time.”

“You have no faith in my abilities. You wound me.”

“I have no doubt that you’re more...capable than you seem. Your vibrancy of life beams off you like an aura. But let me be selfish. I don’t want you getting hurt because then I’d have no one to talk to.”

“I’ll have to get a room here then for the night.”

“Not possible. Since I just got the last room.”

“Then I have no choice but to go. And you would have known that. Unless…”

“You can share my room with me.”

“Do you often ask strangers to sleep with you? I’m probably a bit too old for you.”

“What sort of a woman do you think I am? The room has two beds. It was the only one they had left,” she added before he could ask the obvious question.”

“How can a young woman afford that?”

“I have my ways. I’m not as boring as you may think I am.”

“I definitely do not see you as boring.” 

“So you’ll agree?”

“Then you’ll let me leave?” he asked hopefully, knowing he was pushing his luck here.

“That depends on whether you carry on being so interesting.”

“I should know your name before I agree to anything,” he pointed out.

“Are you going to tell me yours?”

“I wasn’t planning on doing so.”

“You are so mysterious and yet so open. Why can’t I be the same?” She pouted playfully and he knew right then that he had lost their little game.

“Lead the way, oh nameless one.”


	10. Shame and Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys finds out what happened during the night and confronts her council

Daenerys looked at her council as they sat around the table sternly, still feeling the effects of her unconsciousness and the images that had come with it. It wasn’t the first time that she had experienced seemingly prophetic thoughts but that didn't make it any easier to go through. The things she had seen were troubling to say the least so it was no wonder that they were replaying in her mind. But she still hadn’t told anyone about them. They wouldn’t understand or simply pass it off as a side effect of the trauma she’d just been put through. The one person she had considered telling wasn’t even around, Bruda being suspiciously absent when she had anticipated waking up with his eyes fully focused on her. She simply presumed that he was working on something, maybe something related to what he had done to her. A remedy of sorts to ease her pain, a stabbing sensation taking hold in her stomach every so often. She was surprised that he hadn’t turned up yet to the meeting she had called soon after the sun had come up. Jorah had advised caution, telling her to take things easy for the day. She replied defiantly that, as the queen, she couldn’t afford to choose which days she ruled and which ones she didn't. It was a full time job.

She was confused by the animosity in the air between her advisors. Jorah was sitting by her side as always, a relieved expression on his face just by seeing her awake and visibly healthy. Tyrion hadn’t met her eye once so far, which immediately told her something else was going on that she hadn’t yet been told about. Melisandre, who was seated next to Marwyn, was glaring at the dwarf. Daenerys had been slightly surprised by her presence; the only explanation she’d gotten was that pressing matters concerned her. Varys’ expression was troublingly grave and stoic, the normally knowing smirk absent from his face. The only ones who seemed to have as much knowledge about events as her were Davos and Bronn, who were looking around the table and the quiet glances everyone was giving each other in mild curiosity. They didn't even know about what had unfolded during the night but they could tell  _ something  _ had occurred, judging from their tired expressions and grumpy demeanours.

Daenerys started tapping on the table impatiently, glancing at the door as if she would summon the warlock and make him walk through it just by sheer will power alone. Did he not care about the condition she was in? He had made it seem that he didn't properly know what the effects of the incantations would be, highlighting the dangerous aspects quite clearly, so surely he would still be worried and would want to be checking up on her. He was usually so over protective, a trait that often annoyed her, that it was strange to think he had lost interest. She would be angry if he was wallowing in self pity at causing her harm. He wouldn’t be a useful tool to her if he didn't take risks once in a while; it was one of the main reasons why she kept him around. He was the one advisor on her team who was willing to try anything, never wanting to be confined by the rules. They both shared the belief that they were incredibly boring anyway.

“Where is he?” she grumbled. They didn't have a lot of time. They’d lost quite a bit due to her...preoccupation and, with the tourney fast approaching and her needing to greet some of the larger families, they couldn’t afford too many delays.

“Who, khaleesi?” Jorah wondered, knowing who she meant but also not wanting it to be the case. He wasn’t looking forward to what would happen when she found out.

Daenerys looked at him as if he’d lost all of his common sense, shaking her head in disbelief. The pain was making her irritable too, which she needed to control but she didn't really have the energy to do so. “Who do you think? The one council member who isn’t here. He’s probably just wandering the corridors. He’s more than likely lost, knowing him. You know what he’s like when he gets trapped inside his own head.”

“Maybe it would be more beneficial to just start the meeting without him,” Tyrion suggested. He was now beginning to regret his rash decision, even if he still felt that it was the best choice. It had just been easier to send him away when she hadn’t been able to do something to stop him. Now she was awake...he was particularly fond to see her ire concentrated on him. “I think you have enough expertise at this table to help you with any worries you might have.”

Daenerys frowned at her Hand. “You’re not telling me something and you will know perfectly well how much I don’t like that. I don’t employ you to keep secrets. That’s Varys’ job and it seems that he is far better at it than you.” 

The eunuch bowed his head in appreciation of her praise. “You’re very kind, your Grace. I don’t think Lord Tyrion wanted you to find out like this but...warlock Bruda was dismissed from his duties last night due to the role he played in your incapacitation.” 

Davos and Bronn sat up at the news, their eyes wide. They didn't know what to focus on first - the fact that Bruda was gone, seemingly forcibly removed from his position, or the fact that their queen had been out of action and they hadn’t realised. Tyrion wasn’t bothered about their reactions though. He was only aware of the dangerous glint in Daenerys’ eyes, her nostrils flaring, her lips set in an impossibly thin line. The hand that had been tapping on the table was now clenched in a tight fist. 

“And who took it upon themselves to make this decision before consulting me?” she asked. She was trying to control her emotions, attempting to keep her voice neutral for the time being, but the growing anger she was feeling was beginning to slip out. Varys glanced at Tyrion, who sighed when he knew that he was going to have to tell her.

“Me, your Grace,” he reluctantly said.

“Can you tell me why you did it specifically?”

“He endangered your life!” Tyrion protested strongly, wanting to bang on the table to make his point more clear. “We sit at this table to protect you and he jeopardised all of our efforts. I couldn’t let that stand.”

“I’d like to point out that I’m rather confused right now,” Bronn told them. 

“I’m with Bronn,” Davos concurred. “What happened last night? Something so bad that it’s prompted such an extreme reaction.”

“Myself and Bruda were discussing the possibility of a form of magic to tackle the kind that had been used on me years ago. It was feasible that it would allow me to have children again,” Daenerys explained. It wasn’t a topic that she was thrilled to be talking about. They hadn’t known she couldn’t have her own children in the first place, highlighting how much they were outside of the loop here. “I knew the risks before I consented and that’s all you should care about.”

“Even so,” Tyrion pressed on. “What he did was reckless and he agreed that he’d gone too far.”

“Because he would have known you wouldn’t consider listening to sense!” she shouted back, making him flinch. “He did it to help me and, as far as I can tell, it worked with little damage to my body.”

“How can you be so sure?” Jorah asked quietly. Since they were planning on getting married, this would affect him too now.

“I just...know. It’s like a feeling I have inside me. A warmth that I lost a long time ago has returned.”

“He couldn’t have known that it would work. There would have been other ways to deal with the dynasty if that was your concern,” Tyrion said, trying not to lose this argument.

“Unlike you, he put me before the needs of any dynasty. He wasn’t acting as an advisor. He was being my friend, being a person who wanted to help me.”

“Frankly, your Grace,” Varys spoke up. “The Realm has to come before the ruler. It’s a harsh truth but one worth learning. That’s not to say that I agreed with Tyrion’s tactics. I did try to counsel him out of the idea. But his primary reasoning was sound.”

“I understand why he did it. That doesn’t mean that I’m happy about it. I want him brought back here as soon as possible with our deepest apologies.”

“I don’t know whether that will be possible,” Tyrion said dejectedly. “He will be hours away from the city no doubt by now. We have no idea in which direction he decided to travel either. He could have gotten on a ship as soon as he left the Keep and be halfway to the Eastern shores.”

“You will find him or you’ll be halfway to the Eastern shores with a single ore and a rowboat with a hole in the bottom. I am being lenient on you because you have helped me a great deal in getting here, Tyrion. But act without my permission again regarding something so serious and I will have no mercy.” 

The Imp bowed his head sadly. “I understand.” He stood up after pushing his chair back, Varys copying his actions.

“Come. I’m sure my little birds will prove useful in your mission,” he said with a small smile as they left the room, Daenerys still seething. Jorah attempted to put his hand on her arm but she flinched away from his touch.

“Why didn't you do anything to stop this?” she wondered accusingly.

“Because I thought that he was right,” he answered honestly. “All I could see was your body prone in that bed, unmoving. I had no knowledge of what good could have come out of it. Maybe that was irrational of me but I will continue to defend Tyrion’s actions.”

“But still, he is a war hero!” Davos exclaimed. “This should have been brought in front of the council at any rate.”

“We didn't know whether Daenerys was going to wake up! From what we could tell, it was likely that she was going to die. It wasn’t a time for orderly debate.”

“It’s good to see that, in my absence, you quickly descend into chaos,” Daenerys scathingly said. “Maybe I should be thinking about bringing in advisors who do not panic so much.” She stood up, leaving Jorah with his mouth hanging open. “We have guests arriving in the capital soon. I’ll expect the usual guard detail. You can come too. Unless, of course, you think that I should stay in the castle for the rest of my reign to avoid any danger completely. That seems to be your wish.” She left the room with no other words spoken. 

**********

Daenerys stood off to the side of where the Kingsroad came to an end, although smaller roads and paths ran off it like tributaries on a river. The area was one of the nicest spots in the capital, even if it was strictly outside of the city walls. Trees lined it like giant sentinels, swaying ever so slightly in the light breeze. An assortment of bright flowers were planted around them, small spots of colour poking up amongst the green sea of grass. But she was in no mood to enjoy the beauty of the nature around them, nor was she particularly in the mood to be welcoming guests. If it had been anyone else about to arrive, she may have considered sending someone else to do her work for her. But their approaching guests had proved extremely helpful in the war towards the end so she felt that it was only right that they be treated with the respect and decorum they deserved. She could fake a smile if she really needed to, even if it felt like it was going to take a lot of energy out of her. Marwyn had hurried after her when she had left the council room, suggesting that she continue to rest and not strain herself too much. Although she knew that he had played no part in Bruda’s dismissal, she had still snapped at him, claiming that she knew the intricacies of her body better than anyone else so it would be up to her to make the decisions concerning it. His guilty look had made her feel ashamed but, before she could apologise, he had asked for her leave so that he could carry on with some work which she doubted actually existed. 

A group of ten soldiers were standing guard around her, a mixture of gold armour, black protection, and leather coverings. It was becoming more of a common sight for the different sections of her army to be used together, another attempt at portraying the message of unity. Jorah had decided to come, representing the Kingsguard. She was trying her best to ignore him but she could feel his tortured thoughts as his eyes focused on her. She wasn’t willing to cave though - he would have to do the apologising before she even considered it. A small part of her brain understood his reasoning; if anything happened to him, she wouldn’t exactly be pleased with the person who had caused his suffering. But the majority of her brain sat it as another example of him viewing her more as a young girl rather than the strong woman she actually was. She had felt that that was becoming less of a problem between the two of them, especially with what they had done with each other, but she guessed that old habits were the last to die.

The knight took it upon himself to approach her, carrying his head high even though he was feeling incredibly nervous. He knew that he had messed up any chances of them getting married. She wouldn’t want to be with someone who didn't want her to take risks. He wasn’t ashamed of the fact that he preferred her to be safe, far from it. If she needed someone else, he would have to accept her choice and hope that he was able to continue as her advisor. If not...he didn't know what he would do. There wouldn’t be anything left for him in the kingdom.

“I don’t want you to stay locked up in the Keep forever,” he said. He was happy when she turned her head to look at him, acknowledging his presence. It was more than he had expected to happen. “But you know that my first priority will always be your health and wellbeing. More so than Bruda’s position or anyone’s for that matter.”

“He was your friend and you betrayed him,” Daenerys responded emotionlessly, staring up at him.

Jorah hung his head, looking at the ground in sadness. “And you are my love. That outranks any feelings I had for him.”

“Now that I’m safe and well...would you be alright with him being back? Because he will continue to push me. Continue to push all of us. Because that’s his job and, more importantly, what drives him. To see how far he, and us by extension, can go.”

“He has helped you more than anyone else,” he answered evasively. She was going to argue that he had done just as much for her but Jorah stopped her before she could speak. There were only a handful of people who could do that and get away with it. “He deserves to be by your side, there can be no doubt about that. My lack of involvement in stopping what happened was because I was in the heat of the moment. At the time, I thought it the only reasonable thing we could do. Is it right that he’s able to risk your life so flippantly.”

“He didn't do it flippantly. He didn't do it out of curiosity or because he was bored. He knew that he could help. He presented the negatives of the plan as strongly as the positives. He allowed me to consider my options and make my own decision. Any hardship that could have been caused would have been down to me just as much as him. But I don’t see you calling for me to step down as queen.”

“Because you are the perfect ruler,” he answered passionately.

“And he is the perfect advisor. He knows me, he knows what I want, he cares for me, he is willing to do whatever it takes to please me. The only difference between you and him is that he is not restricted by his fears, even if he is secretly full of them. I need at least one person like that on my council so that I can make better judgements.”

“The council will certainly be lacking without his presence, I see that now.”

“Then you best hope that he gets found soon. The longer he isn’t around, the more my mood sours. You don’t want to be dealing with that.” She tried making him smile but it didn't succeed.

“I suppose that you will want to be postponing any talks about marriage then since I’ve let you down,” he said stiffly, looking forward along the road and avoiding her confused look.

“I still love you. I may have been mad at you, furious even...but that doesn’t change how strongly I feel for you. I just want you to be able to let me rule more as I wish.”

“I can try, Khaleesi.” This time, he did allow a smile to grow on his face. 

“I also still think that it’s best if we don’t discuss the matter until after the tourney. The kingdom can only cope with one array of festivities at a time. Another reason for me wanting this to end quickly.” She wanted to continue their conversation but the sight of a carriage approaching, surrounded by knights on horseback, made her pause and stand straighter. A couple of the soldiers were holding tall poles, with the emblem of a rose stitched into the fabric that was blowing in the wind. The sigil of House Tyrell of Highgarden. The only woman who could match Daenerys’ ferocity had finally arrived.

They came to a stop just in front of the queen, a Highgarden man opening the door to allow Olenna Tyrell out. Her son, Mace, exited soon after her. He bowed deeply, his mother rolling her eyes at the action. She chose to take Daenerys’ hand and kiss it, the recipient smiling at the gesture. The Tyrell matriarch wasn’t one for stuffy pleasantries. 

“I hope that the journey served you well,” Daenerys said in greeting. 

“I wish that those maesters in the citadel would come up with a better form of travel. One that doesn’t leave my back aching for days,” Olenna replied with a sigh.

“I’ll have my Grandmaester look into it personally.”

“You are a gracious host. Now, let me take a look at you.” The older woman observed her with a keen eye. “Ah yes, you are just as beautiful as the last time I saw you. Wasn’t it your coronation meal? I think that warlock of yours asked me to dance on a number of occasions and I only refused him the once!” She barked with laughter, missing Daenerys’ sad expression at the mention of Bruda. “I hadn’t expected to be back here so soon.”

“You seem upset at that,” Daenerys pointed out.

“I don’t wish to cause you any offence, your Grace, but your time here is yet to have any effect on the rancid stench of the place. I can already smell it from here.”

“I’ll be sure to have some of my people cover your room in the most splendid of flowers to try and cover the...aroma.”

“That would be a great help indeed.”

“If you don’t like the city, why have you come? I would have understood your absence…”

“Nonsense. I have men who dream of participating in these events, even if my son is too old and bloated to get involved in them anymore.” She sent a disapproving look at the man in question, who reddened considerably. “As for myself...I must say that I just adore it when a man lands heavily and unceremoniously on his arse.”

**********

Bruda groaned as he sat up in bed, woken up by the sunlight filtering into the room. He grumbled under his breath, cursing whoever had decided it was proper to open the blinds at such a time. The woman who he suspected was culpable was nowhere to be seen, which surprised him. He had expected to wake up and still be in her company. She was a very fascinating person, witty enough to deal with and sometimes best his own comments. And he could tell that there was even more to her than she had let on thus far, making her even more intriguing. It just seemed that she had grown bored of him, judging by her absence. She hadn’t lied about the sleeping arrangements; the room was fairly small (Bruda felt that putting two beds in there was a tad optimistic) but she’d kept well away from him, making no move to do anything improper. The only other object in the room was a rather unassuming chest that she kept at the foot of her bed. They’d simply spent the evening discussing a wide range of topics, specifically on the intricacies of life within King’s Landing. That was more to benefit her since she was a new visitor - it could be a difficult experience for people not used to the busy and crammed streets of the capital. He had to say that she was a very pleasant young woman, attentive when listening and able to add her own developed thoughts. She was definitely more learned than he would have assumed at first sight, which he felt slightly guilty about. He tried to not judge people by their appearances, even if they were often a good and accurate indicator of what a person was like, but it appeared that he still kept to that habit. When they had needed to change into their nightclothes so that they could actually get some sleep as the night deepened, they had both stood outside to give one another privacy, despite her jokes that she was perfectly okay with seeing what was under his cloak. She was just as flirtatious as Daenerys and Melisandre, it seemed. Did he have a type? Even after that, they’d continued their conversation as they lay in bed, both of them staring at the low ceiling. He’d had fun, momentarily forgetting about his life falling apart around him. Which was why he was so disappointed that she was no longer with him.

He was pondering this development when the door to the room suddenly opened, the mystery woman stepping through with a tray in her hands. She looked shocked to see him up, almost spilling the jug onto the floor. He smiled gently, despite his equal amount of surprise, and she carried on towards him. She placed the tray on his lap without a word and he was immediately met with the aroma of different foods. There was a bowl of fruit and a freshly baked piece of pastry, something he could tell would be sweet. The jug just contained water, a cup by its side. It wasn’t his typical breakfast but he wasn’t going to complain at the sight of a meal.

“What’s this?” he asked, still dazed. Dazed by who she was, dazed by why she was still here, dazed as to why she was acting in this fashion. “Not that I’m annoyed or anything…”

“It’s breakfast,” she replied simply with a shrug of her shoulders. She was wearing the same purple outfit as when he’d met her last night, whilst he was still in his nightshirt. 

“Yes, I gathered that. But why have you got me some? Are you expecting some sort of...payment? I think I can fish out a few coins from somewhere. I have many pockets. There’s bound to be some in my cloak.”

She laughed at his words, a sound of pure music and delight. “I got you it because I thought you’d be hungry. As am I.” She pinched a piece of fruit from the bowl, quickly popping it into her mouth before he could protest. He was only just noticing that she was perched on the edge of his bed, quite close to him. “As for repaying me, there’s truly no need. I find it best to do nice things once in a while. This was one way of doing it.”

The smell of the pastry was luxurious and enticing, and he tore a bit off. “The kingdom would be a lot better off if it was filled with people like you.”

She looked down at her hands, her cheeks coloured red. “I’m flattered that you think so.” This time, he allowed her to take some more fruit, which she smiled gratefully at even though she’d bought it. “You slept in.”

“I haven’t done that in a long time,” he admitted sheepishly. “I must have needed it. You, on the other hand, were up rather early. Is that normal?”

“I find that people are more open to talk in the morning because their brains aren’t functioning properly. Meaning they let things slip when I ask them things.”

“Are you just naturally curious or do you have some ulterior motives?” Bruda was having to remind himself that he didn't know this woman at all.

“Information is worth more than gold most of the time. I’d only ever want to be rich in that commodity.”

“I know quite a few people like you. You’d probably get along.” He smiled sadly as he thought about the council and how he wouldn’t be going back. 

She started to look at him curiously, obviously wanting to bring something up.  _ Ulterior motive _ , he reminded himself. “Something strange happened when I was downstairs. People were looking for an old man with large grey hair and a beard to match. A man who carries a staff with him.” She glanced at the offending item where it was leaning against his bed post. 

Bruda sat up straighter, suddenly on edge. If people were wanting him, surely it meant only one thing. Daenerys was dead and he had to pay the penalty for the crime. “What did you say to them?”

“That I think I’d realise if I’d seen someone so strange and creepy,” she answered teasingly. He looked at her in confusion, letting out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. 

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to lose the one person who can match my wits. But...I think you’re going to have to tell me why you were leaving the city. You’ve obviously done something to annoy some powerful people.”

Bruda let out a sigh, wondering whether he could trust her. What could she possibly do with this information when everyone in the capital already knew who he was? He moved the tray so that he could get more comfortable, allowing her to shift closer. Her eyes were trained on his. “I was on the queen’s small council.”

“Was?”

“Was. Relieved of my duties yesterday. I helped her during the war as one of her closest advisors but I recently made a mistake. Queen Daenerys felt that I could help her with something that was wrong with her but it was dangerous.”

“Because it involved magic?”

His eyebrows raised at the question. “How did you know?”

“The staff,” she pointed out. “You don’t exactly hide what you are.” She picked up on his questioning gaze. “Where I come from originally, magic is much more common. I can...feel it on you, if that makes sense.”

“Interesting,” he muttered. “Well...anyway...the magic looked to have gone wrong and the small council thought that it was best for me to leave, which I agreed with.”

“You still seem sad about it.”

“Of course I am. I truly cared for the queen. I cared for all of the people who helped her get to this point.”

“Life isn’t fair,” she noted. “I just wish I had the power to make and keep everyone happy.”

“What I did could have killed her. It probably has, if they’re trying to find me again.”

She scrunched up her eyebrows, a crease forming on her brow. “No. That doesn’t make sense. Some of the locals this morning were saying she was travelling through the kingdom, welcoming some other family for the tourney.”

His eyes lit up in an instant, sitting even straighter as he grabbed her arms eagerly. “She’s okay? She’s alive?” A tentative smile was on his lips, wanting to believe her.

“As far as I’ve heard. The tourney is starting later. There’s one way you could see that she’s alright.”

“I can’t go.” He looked down as she sent a piercing gaze at him. “I shouldn’t go.”

“If she cares for you just as much as you do her, she’ll want to see you again. I’ll protect you if anything goes wrong.” She winked at Bruda as he rolled his eyes.

“Maybe it could be possible.” Before he’d finished speaking, she was standing up and dragging him out of bed.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.”


	11. Tourneys and Chests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The North arrives just in time as the entertainment starts but Daenerys has other matters to deal with before she can enjoy it

With the Tyrells settling in before the festivities (she wasn’t too sure that was the appropriate term for watching people fight one another as entertainment), Daenerys once again found herself at the end of the King’s Road, waiting for the arrival of an even more important group of guests. She’d been left speechless when word reached her that Sansa Stark had accepted her invitation, bringing with her a number of powerful people in the Northern kingdom, as well as a wildling contingent. Daenerys knew that this had to go well, not wanting any lasting animosity to be present between the two regions. She doubted that there was actually a lot of ill feeling directed towards her since she’d shown her strength during the Battle of Winterfell but there was always going to be lasting suspicion of the young woman from the far off lands. The Stark ruler would be looking for any reason to sow dissent amongst her ranks so she had to show them what she had to offer. But Daenerys wasn’t planning on just rolling over for them; they had to be taught that the Crown was the ultimate power, no matter what a few families thought. It was a frustratingly precarious line to be balancing on but one she felt she could just about manage with. Yet she would have felt a lot securer if her trusted advisor had been by her side. He hadn’t turned up so far, which was worrying her. They had men of the City Watch searching every street and alley in King’s Landing since they were made up of the largest number; the other portions of her military strength were preparing to participate in or provide security for the tourney. Surely it would only be a matter of time before they found him strolling about like he normally did and this fiasco would be put behind them. That was if he forgave them for the treatment he’d received. She didn't want to think of the possibility of him refusing to return if they did find him, even if she would understand his reasoning. Daenerys would have to use all of her skills of diplomacy, bargaining and flirting if that was the case - she was not going to lose him. Something else was bothering her though. One of the visions she’d had when unconscious. Bruda choosing to turn against her, striking her down without any second thought. If he did oppose them, would there be any chance in stopping him? His powers could render an army pointless, irrelevant and redundant. That could only ever happen if he left them, deserting them in anger and fury so, by securing his place, she was also telling herself that those...disturbing images didn't have to happen and she was the controller of her destiny, not some outside force like it had been for so long.

Jorah wasn’t with her this time, instead leading the Gold cloaks as they attempted to control the crowds surrounding the small arena set up for the first events. With every minute that passed by, the excitement levels seemed to increase, the energy palpable in the air. Where she was waiting was relatively quiet as a result, the majority of people heading to where the action was rather than where their queen was. She could get used to it, moving about the city with little disruption. She had already started to forgive Jorah for his actions (as if she could truly resent him - she’d tried distancing herself from him for previous betrayals in the past with little success). She couldn’t say the same for Tyrion and Varys, who were accompanying her this time. Although she could tell that they were sorry for what happened, and the eunuch had hardly been the cause of this infernal headache, Daenerys knew that they needed to see that they couldn’t act without her express permission first. They may have gotten away with it when working for more incompetent rulers, but her reign was going to be different. She wanted her administration to work in tandem with its many cogs and that required unity in what their actions were. Davos had also joined them to welcome their guests, especially Jon Snow, who he’d grown close to when they had travelled to Dragonstone to meet Daenerys. He was picking up on the tension in the air, realising that it wouldn’t be the best atmosphere in which to greet the new arrivals. He wasn’t about to say anything though, in case he started an argument. The council meeting earlier in the morning had been bad enough. He’d even felt sorry for Melisandre, which he had never expected to happen.

Daenerys eyed her Hand as he slowly shuffled along the grass, his hands behind his back. The last time he had done this was for the arrival of Prince Oberyn Martell and that had ended up being the beginning of a distressing series of events, meaning it was understandable for him to be on edge. With Bruda’s departure, he hated the feeling of things turning sour once again when they were just starting to improve. He caught the gaze of his queen, who arched an eyebrow at his unsettled demeanour.

“Has no one spotted him yet?” she asked, obviously referring to the warlock.

Tyrion grimaced. “Not as of yet. But...we’re working on it. If he’s in the city, it will only be a matter of time before we find him. However, with the tourney, our resources are stretched enough as it is. Searching for one man in a place of this size would be a difficult enough trial regardless of this.”

“Stop making excuses,” she shot back testily. “You didn't think he’d be in the city before. You sound more certain that that’s not actually the case.”

“Have faith in my capabilities,” Varys reassured her. “Bruda is well known around these parts. He doesn’t exactly try to hide, does he? If he had left through the city gates, the many guards posted there would have spotted him. I’ve already spoken with them and they inform me that he has been nowhere near the exits. At this point in time, his lack of any appearance has to be seen as a good sign.”

Davos nodded his head encouragingly. “And I’ve been down by the docks all morning, asking my contacts about it. Ships have only been coming into the harbour recently because of the tourney, not out. It would have been clear if he’d left that way.”

“I do hope you’re right,” Daenerys said quietly. “But you need to factor in his...capabilities. If anyone could find a way out without us knowing, it would be him.”

“Frankly, my concerns about his powers are more focused on how he’ll use them when he next sees me,” Tyrion quipped.

“I don’t think I’ll be rushing to save you either.” Her words had the desired effect, making the dwarf look at the floor in embarrassment. He prided himself in making the right decisions but, on this occasion, he’d acted on sheer impulse and stupid anger, making him no different to the rest of his family. He would never get away from the ghost of his family name, no matter how hard he tried.

When he looked up again, a large procession was heading their way, many banners flying in the wind. The largest and most notable were emblazoned with the snarling image of a direwolf. They were surprised by how many people were in the party, multiple carriages being pulled by tired horses but most of the people getting closer riding their own stallions. The first to reach them were the Free Folk. Tormund Giantsbane, a large smile on his face, jumped off his horse before it had even come to a stop, forgetting all normal protocol as he hugged Daenerys tightly. Some of her guards weren’t too pleased, moving to drag this feral-looking man away, but her laughter told them to leave him.

“Dragon mama!” he bellowed forcefully once he’d untangled himself from her. “Where are the dragons?”

“Is that the only reason you came here?” she asked, being infected with his exuberant energy.

“Of course not! I also want to kick some poncy southern arse to the ground. Know where I can do that?”

She pointed in the general direction of where the events would take place. “I’m sure some of my men will be able to escort you. Just please try and save the ‘kicking of poncy southern arses’ until you’re actually allowed to.”

Tormund grinned, which didn't exactly settle any worries she was having. “I can’t make any promises.” He gave her another large grin before he beckoned for his comrades to follow him, some of Daenerys’ soldiers looking at them in slight alarm.

“I’m sorry about him,” a voice sounded behind them. Jon Snow dismounted from his horse with little effort, a small smile on his face as he stepped closer to them. “He’s been getting gradually more excited about this the closer we got.”

Davos was the closest to him, patting him on the back affectionately. “It’s good to see you looking so healthy and well, Snow.”

“I could say the same about you lot. It seems that this life is suiting you.” His eyes lingered a bit too long on Daenerys, who didn't miss his staring. 

“And what about life beyond the wall? How is life treating you?” Tyrion asked.

“As well as can be expected. This was a welcome respite though. We needed the change of scenery.” He knelt in front of Daenerys, who had forgotten about his stringent following of the expected social decorum. “Your Grace.”

“Lord Snow. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. Where’s that warlock of yours? I want to see if he’s still as completely mad as the last time I saw him.”

Daenerys glanced at the people around her sadly, trying to think of an appropriate answer. “We’re...trying to find him. You know what he gets like. He enjoys wandering when we least expect it.” Job looked at her as if he could tell something else was wrong. Thankfully for Daenerys, an excuse to end the awkward conversation came as Lady Stark approached with soldiers behind her. Tyrion and Varys had to control their reactions, the latter being more successful, when they laid their eyes on Littlefinger, who was casually strolling off to one side with a smirk on his face. 

Daenerys grasped the younger woman’s hands as they came face to face. Memories resurfaced of their last meeting, where they had ended on a tense and sour note.  _ This needs to go better _ , she reminded herself. “Lady Sansa. I’m so glad that you were able to accept my invitation. We had been worried that you wouldn’t be able to make it.”

Sansa plastered a smile on her face. “Your Grace. It has been fairly busy, getting used to running a kingdom, so I didn't know whether I should come. But I felt that this would be a perfect opportunity for us to talk and grow closer.” Jon smiled at her, thankful that she was at least starting with a diplomatic approach. 

“I thought exactly the same,” Daenerys agreed, hopeful that the motives were genuine. “All I want is for us to work closer than ever. To have a strong relationship. Just because we’re in the south, that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t have a say in what happens.” As she began to lead the other woman away, Baelish walked past Tyrion and Varys without a word. All he did was glance at them and the delight in his eyes told them all they needed to know - it wasn’t going to be as smooth a process as their Queen hoped.

**********

The tourney was in full swing, much to the delight of the packed crowd. Small stalls of hot food were set up in the field, attracting long queues and making copious amounts of money. As young knights spent time preparing themselves off to one side of the jousting arena, the excitement would grow, the anticipation of the expected entertainment increasing. Daenerys sat on a small throne, nowhere near as grand as the one that had been made for her, on the centre stage, one leg crossed over the other. She was counting down the seconds until the next battle commenced, knowing that, once it did, she would be one fight closer to this finishing. Then she’d remind herself that there were going to be at least two more days of this and her mood would sour even further. She had to admit that it was much more pleasant than the fighting pits of Meereen, which were designed solely for meaningless bloodshed. These events, although still quite dangerous, especially for those lacking experience and using the opportunity only to greaten their name, were less likely to have casualties. It was possible that her apprehension was also down to what had ended up happening in the fighting pits, the memory of the Harpies swarming around her being vividly reenacted in her head. She calmed her nerves by reminding herself of the joy that day had brought too, returning Jorah to her confidence and starting her friendship with Bruda. She was on the lookout for him, hoping to see his face somewhere in the mass of people. She’d already been told to focus her attention back on the action by Jorah, who had picked up on her restless attitude.

Her knight stood next to where she sat, enjoying the spectacle but also keeping one hand on the hilt of his sword at all times. Daenerys had brought up the events of Meereen with him, wanting her guards to be on high alert. Events like this attracted many people, not all of them supporters of the queen. Davos also had a place on the stage but that was mainly for Shireen’s benefit, who had wanted to experience the tourney properly. Daenerys had been happy to allow her to sit with him just like the princess she was. The other members of her council, however, were situated in the stalls on either side of the patch of grass, mingling with their other guests. As the Queen’s Hand, Tyrion had been offered a place by Daenerys’ side, despite the residual anger she was still feeling, but he had politely declined, claiming it was much more exciting when one was in the middle of the action. It also gave him the chance to see Missandei’s reaction, who he was sitting next to. Her smile was large as she watched the strange tradition, not really understanding the point of it. He didn't mind explaining it all to her in the slightest. Varys, who was situated on Missandei’s other side, was trying to ignore the fantastical stories the Imp was saying had actually happened. 

“One year, under some Targaryen king or other...they thought it would be a brilliant idea to get a bear to joust against the most fearsome of knights,” Tyrion claimed loudly. “Balden Gearfellow had slain more men than even the most cleverest of maesters could count so he felt that a stupid beast would be no match for his might. So, he gets on his horse, they uncage the bear, and they start charging at one another.”

“And what happened then?” Missandei asked in awe, her eyes sparkling.

Tyrion chuckled. “The issue was that the animal had no regard for the fencing they’d put up. It smashed through the railing, and ran head on at the poor man’s stallion. Old Balden Gearfellow became synonymous with bad ideas from that point on.”

“Are you sure that this actually happened, Lord Tyrion?”

“I would take what he says with a pinch of salt, my lady,” Varys suggested with a knowing look. “Not only is he usually one to bend the truth, he is also four drinks of wine in already. His mind may be...blunter than it normally is.”

“I beg your pardon!” Tyrion exclaimed, trying not to make his swaying too obvious. “I’ll have you know that Gearfellow did die at a tourney.”

“Yes, he did. You’re quite right about that. But his  _ bad idea  _ was not taking on a bear but, in fact, deciding it would be fun to ride without armour. I’ve heard that the king found it highly entertaining to see a lance go that far through a man.”

“Are you both messing with me?” Missandei wondered, now with a frown on her face.

“We wouldn’t do that, would we?” But the twinkle in Varys’ eyes told her otherwise.

Further down the stalls, a strange couple was approaching the crowd. Bruda, his eyes shifting about uneasily, was now truly regretting ever listening to his new companion. The only positive was that, with everyone so focused on the crude entertainment, no one was noticing his presence. So far, at least. If he walked away now, no one would never have known that he had even been there. But he knew that he would regret missing the chance of seeing Daenerys again, just to check that she was indeed alive. He huffed as the woman with him (she still wouldn’t tell him his name) almost hit his foot with the chest she was dragging. It was an unusual thing to be bringing with her and he’d frankly had enough of the mysteries with her.

He turned his head to her as they blended in with the large number of spectators, somehow able to get a good view of what was going on. “Why have you even brought that thing?” He wanted to stay inconspicuous and this really wasn’t helping.

“It’s a gift,” she explained as if it were obvious. Her eastern accent rolled off her tongue like a purr. It made him miss Melisandre even more. “For the queen.”

“What’s inside it?”

“Everything she needs to be happy.”

He was slightly apprehensive now. He kept forgetting that he didn't know this woman. Was he jeopardising Daenerys’ safety again? Was he continuing to be foolish? “What do you mean by that?”

“You’ll find out when I get to give it to her.”

“Good luck with that. There’s no chance of you getting anywhere near her. I’d give up if I were you.”

“When she sees you, she won’t exactly turn us away. No doubt, she’ll be ecstatic that you’ve come back.”

He looked around nervously, trying to catch a glimpse of the woman in question. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. If anyone finds out that I’m here, I’ll likely be locked away for the rest of my years, however long that may be. So I’m not going to see her, just to be on the safe side. It’s best for all of us if I keep my distance. Safer.” But then he managed to catch a glimpse of her as she sat proudly on the throne, her hair blowing in the wind. The stranger smiled softly at him as his expression mellowed at the sight of her.

“Who are you trying to convince? From what you’ve told me, she had no part to play in what happened to you. She’s got men out searching for you because she misses you. It’s obvious to everyone but you.”

Bruda looked back at her, unsure about what was the best course of action. This would likely be his last chance to see her. Would everything be alright if he gave into temptation? He was distracted by the sight of the next two competitors approaching the arena. The crowd could hardly contain their laughter at the obvious mismatch. One knight was thin and scrawny, his armour drowning him as if he was wearing his father’s clothes. The other was one of the largest men in the kingdom, a strong Northerner who had travelled down with the Starks but was actually of the house Forrester. Whispers spread quickly around the stands of his nickname. Bonecrusher, some said. Dustmaker, a young man put forward as this knight had the capability of turning his enemy’s bones to nothing more than ashes and dust. 

Petyr Baelish, who had managed to find a seat near Sansa, smirked and turned his head to where Tyrion sat. “One hundred gold dragons say that the little man wins.”

Tyrion’s eyes lit up as his eyebrows raised. “Are you trying to lose money? This will be the easiest money I’ve ever made. I almost feel bad at taking your coin from you but then I remember who you are.”

Bruda sensed an opportunity, not only to gain the attention of Daenerys but to also seek some revenge against the dwarf. It would be childish and reckless and put his life at risk...but it would be so worth it. The knights mounted their steeds, took hold of their lances and bowed their heads. The crowd cheered as the horses began to charge, churning up dirt as they galloped. But, before they reached one another, the warlock hit his staff on the ground, small blue sparks lighting up around him. Only his companion noticed, a happy smile on her face.  _ Bonecrusher  _ or  _ Dustmaker _ , whatever his name was, flew from the saddle as if the horse had bucked, soaring through air before landing on the ground with a heavy thump. The people gasped at what they’d seen. Tyrion gaped, his face pale at the sight. Varys and Missandei smirked and laughed at his predicament. Baelish turned around with an equally surprised look but gleeful all the same. But the person Bruda was focused on stood up in alarm, scanning the crowd. Daenerys knew that there would only be one cause for such a strange occurrence. He was here. Her eyes roamed over everyone before they eventually settled on her target. She didn't know how to react when she saw him. She couldn’t cry in front of her people but smiling would also be a weird reaction to what had happened.

Bruda suddenly found himself surrounded by a group of soldiers but they weren’t pointing their swords at him just yet. Even so, he was still beginning to second guess the decision he’d made. He bit his lip as he looked at the woman who’d brought him here. “I really shouldn’t have done that.”

**********

They were in the great hall of the Red Keep. The tourney was still going on, knights charging at one another somewhere in the distance, not that they could hear that. There was the unmistakable sound of the crowd cheering, probably at some gruesome event, loud enough to penetrate the stone walls of the castle. But Daenerys was tuning that distraction out. When she had spotted Bruda and her men had surrounded him, she had quickly ordered that he be taken with her back to the stronghold, reassuring everyone else that the  _ fun  _ could continue without her presence. Her council followed her regardless, mainly to see what would happen and also to make up for their actions. If that were at all possible. The warlock hadn’t spoken to anyone during the short journey back, his face expressionless and stoic. It wasn’t solely down to being annoyed with the people around him, more because he was unsure his extravagant trick had been the right thing to do. He couldn’t take it back now even if he wanted to so there was no point in wondering what would have happened if he’d simply stuck to the shadows like he’d first planned. 

Daenerys was back on her true throne, not the poor imitation they were using in the tourney fields, looking down upon the warlock. He had one hand on his staff and one behind his back, his eyes darting around as he examined the hall. His companion stood by his side, the chest at her feet. Two soldiers had carried it up for her despite her assurances that she could manage. He had tried again to make her leave it behind but his efforts had been for naught. She was a stubborn woman, he could tell that. As his eyes roamed, he found it interesting to take in the expressions the other people were wearing. Some appeared guilty, including Jorah and Tyrion as they stood on either side of the queen. Others seemed pleased about his quick return, Davos and Varys wearing small smiles. Daenerys’ look, however, was unreadable and he prided himself on his ability to know what she was thinking. It was as if her face were nothing more than a mask, shielding her true emotions from him. 

“We’ve had men searching for you, you know,” she spoke, her voice booming across the quiet chamber. “You’re not an easy man to find it seems.”

“If I’m told that someone wants to see me and I don’t know their intentions, I find it best to take the safest option and hide for a while,” he responded, making it clear that he still had no idea what her motives were. The longer she went on not telling him, the more worried he became.

“And yet you made yourself perfectly visible at the tourney. Almost as if you actually wanted to be seen…”

“I may no longer work for you but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring about you. Once I saw that you had survived, I had no choice but to make sure you were okay, which is what I’m doing right now. It was the selfish option and a foolish one but I didn't care about getting punished.”

“Why would I punish you?” Daenerys arched an eyebrow, looking down at him curiously. The warlock shrugged his shoulders. She could tell he was on edge because he was standing still, not moving about like he normally did, taking control of any room he found himself in.

“Because it would be the right thing to do. Lord Tyrion made the correct decision in sending me away, even if you think otherwise. That didn't mean I stopped myself from enacting a form of...revenge against him.”

“You owe me one hundred gold dragons,” the dwarf complained. “And, even worse than that, my pride has been damaged beyond repair, losing to Littlefinger of all people.”

“Like I said revenge,” Bruda repeated, sending the other man a hard glare. 

“You’re right in figuring out I wasn’t pleased with the majority of my council, to say the least,” Daenerys said, regaining control of the conversation. She stood up, taking a few steps forward. “But you are wrong in thinking this course of action is anything in the realm of being  _ right _ or  _ just. _ Which is why I was searching for you. So that I could reverse your dismissal and ask you back to the council.”

“Your Grace,” Bruda said, trying to make her see sense. He couldn’t meet her eyes, which told her everything she needed to know. He didn't want to believe what he was saying, wanting to give in to his own desires and stay with her.

“No. I won’t hear any of it. In fact, I am not asking for you to return. I am ordering you to, as your queen. If you refuse, then maybe I’ll have to consider punishment.”

“I put you at risk. I could have killed you. No advisor of yours should be able to make decisions like that.”

“The reason my council works so well is that it contains people willing to take risks. And this risk worked.”

Bruda frowned. “And by that, you mean…”

“I can feel it. My body is...cleaner. Purer. You managed to get rid of that dark magic, as you put it. You have given me a gift that no one else ever could. So there is no way I am letting you leave because of the choice you made.”

He allowed himself to smile, a purely relieved and jubilant reaction. “If that’s what you want, I’ll gladly take my place back. If the other members are okay with that.”

“They wouldn’t get a say regardless but you should know that they are regretful of what happened,” Daenerys told him. Bruda nodded his head in their direction. “Now, I think it would be best if you introduced your...friend here.” She motioned to the young woman by his side, who bowed her head at the sudden show of attention. “What is your name?”

She glanced at Bruda, who was just as curious to find out. “Ustrina, your Grace.”

“A beautiful name.”

“Why couldn’t you have told me that?” the warlock moaned, an accusatory tone to his voice.

“To keep you intrigued, I had to have a mystery about me. If you were still wanting to find something about me, that meant you wouldn’t leave me. So I could get here.”

“And why did you want to come here?” Daenerys asked, slightly apprehensive although this figure could hardly cause much harm to someone it seemed.

“To give you this,” Ustrina replied, gesturing to the chest. It was a deep chestnut brown, basic patterns carved into the wood. It wasn’t the most ornate thing in the kingdom and Bruda still could not tell why it was so important to her. “My family have had this for generations. The story goes that it must be given to a ruler who was perfect. That has to be you.”

“I’m flattered. Is there anything inside it?”

“Only what you need to have a full life.” 

Daenerys motioned to Bruda, who cautiously opened it up to find...nothing. It was completely empty, apart from the darkness that lived inside of it. He looked back up in fascination since it was the last thing he’d been expecting. 

“You already have what you need,” Ustrina explained. “I think my ancestors thought it a funny joke. A metaphor to make the ruler realise how lucky they are.”

“I’m fully aware of that,” Daenerys replied, sending warm gazes to Jorah and the warlock in front of her. “It is a lovely gift. One that I shall cherish. I’m sure that there is a lot for me to be caught up on. You can stay in the Keep for the time being, as a sign of gratitude.”

“Thank you, your Grace. That is most kind.” Ustrina smiled at the queen, running a hand through her fiery orange hair. The doors to the chamber opened suddenly and a figure hurriedly walked into the room, her red dress billowing behind her due to her frantic movements. When Melisandre saw Bruda, she stopped on the spot, breathless. A smile danced on her lips, something that had been a rare occurrence when she was a follower of the Lord of Light. He closed the distance between them, capturing her lips with his own. Everyone else looked away, apart from Daenerys, who was fighting that pang of jealousy that always crept up around the couple, and Ustrina, who smiled at the interaction.

“I heard people saying that you were back but I couldn’t believe them until I saw you with my own eyes,” Melisandre said, her eyes staring deeply into his own.

“I’ve only been gone for a day,” he pointed out. “I tell you, you’re getting to be more emotional since you stopped being a crazed religious woman.” He didn't try to defend himself against her attack, knowing he deserved it.

“I blame you for that.”

“Complaining?”

“Never.”

Bruda smiled and pecked her on the lips again. He then took a step closer to Daenerys, awkwardly placing a hand on her shoulder as he moved her away. He didn't quite know how to act around her just yet. 

“Don’t put that thing in your room,” he said quietly, talking about the chest. Daenerys frowned at him but he stopped her before she could speak. “Let me just...examine it. Make sure that nothing is out of the ordinary about it. I’ll keep it with me for the time being.” He looked back at Ustrina with a piercing stare. “And keep a couple of guards on watch around her. She may be nice and pleasant and she may have helped me before but that doesn’t mean I trust her just yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I'm seeing Ustrina as Elizabeth Olsen, which may help you when you're picturing the character


	12. Loyalties and Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys meets with Sansa but other forces lurking in the darkness are beginning to grow

Although the tourney was the obvious attraction, especially when Tormund jumped on his horse after five tankards of King’s Landing’s strongest ale and took down four knights in quick succession (it ultimately took a group of wildlings and Bruda to get him off the animal, with Jon distracting Giantsbane long enough for them to succeed), there was another major reason why Sansa Stark had travelled so far. She wanted to cut a deal with the queen, if it were at all possible. The North valued its strength and independence over any other of its traits and she didn't want to be the ruler who lost that. They’d finally escaped the clutches of the Lannisters and the misery they had brought with them, particularly around the way her life had gone so far; it wouldn’t be right if they just laid back and allowed a new monarch to restrict and bound them. That explained why she was now sitting across from Daenerys, a small table in between them. Sansa had been surprised at how soon her summons had come, even more so when she discovered their meeting would take place in the Queen’s own room. It seemed that her counterpart was just as eager as she was to sort their relationship out, which she only saw as a positive. Not just because it would make it easier to reach an agreement, but it also alluded to the fact that she had some leverage in the bartering to come. 

Daenerys poured them both a cup of wine, the finest the Red Keep had to offer. Sansa didn't often drink (it often reminded her of the time when she had been locked up with Queen Cersei during the siege of Blackwater, when she had been forced to drink by the gradually drunker woman) but she felt it would be polite to accept the offer, knowing that every action here would have its consequences. She took the proffered cup with a small smile, still slightly on edge. Her own advisors, although she saw them more as knights and protection rather than political geniuses, had told her that it was a risk to do this in private, with no one there to defend her if something went wrong. It would be easy for Daenerys to call her guards in and be done with this issue before it became too big of a problem. But Sansa had faith in the other woman, knowing that she wasn’t the sort of person to do something like that. It was underhanded, an element of a game Daenerys had vowed not to play. Also, an act like that would cause a war within a blink of an eye, the very thing that they were trying to prevent. 

Daenerys had been willing to have this much needed conversation with Lady Sansa because she was in a good mood. Whereas the tourney hadn’t been something she was particularly enjoying, the swift return of Bruda to her council was the exact thing she needed to be more positive. When he suggested, agreeing with Jorah, that this was the best course of action, she had been too happy to disagree, immediately sending off a message asking for the younger woman’s presence. As had been the case for Sansa, Daenerys’ advisors had asked to join in with the diplomatic meeting. But, just like Sansa again, she had reassured them that this had to be done alone, between the two of them. Any friction between the two of them was because of their personal friendship, or lack thereof. Nothing that could be smoothed out by the blunt instruments men called their brains. 

“I’m glad we’ve got the chance to do this,” Daenerys began as she sat in her seat, a pleasant smile painting her lips. “The North is so important to me after I fought by its side. I want to have a good relationship with it for as long as I’m queen.”

“And the North will always see you as a beacon of hope,” Sansa replied, begrudgingly admitting that fact. “We wouldn’t have won the war without your help.”

“It’s good to hear you say that. After our last conversation, I was worried that you were wanting to split the kingdom after it had just been united. It’s been troubling my mind for quite some time, I must say. I may sleep easy now.”

“Nothing has changed in my mindset. The main reason why I travelled down here was to ask again that you allow our kingdom to be its own state, like it should be.”

Daenerys’ smile disappeared in an instant, her lips suddenly set in a thin line. “Why are you so adamant about this? If you could explain why you want this, maybe then I could consider it. But only if the reason you give is a valid one.”

Sansa nodded her head, took a sip of her wine and gulped audibly. She needed to compose herself for this as past memories reached the surface of her mind once again, just like the nightmares she often had when she tried to sleep. “My life has taken the path it has because of the North’s obedience to the Crown. My father travelled south on the bequest of King Robert Baratheon. He died because of that choice. King Joffrey was one of the worst people I had the displeasure of ever meeting. My brother died in the south, not in battle, but at a wedding. On the orders of Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King at the time. It was by royal decree that I had to marry Ramsey Bolton, who matched Joffrey in his cynical and abusive nature. Every awful thing that has ever happened to me is because of this place. It’s time that I removed its influence from my people before it hurts more people.”

Daenerys stared at Sansa in disbelief, seeing the horrors of her life in her troubled eyes. She pitied her, which Sansa probably wanted. But what she was saying didn't really make sense to her. “I feel awful that you have had to go through so much in your short life. No one, especially someone as pleasant and strong as you, should have to suffer in such a manner.”

“It’s because of my struggles and suffering that I am so strong,” Sansa said with a steely tone.

“Another thing we have in common. We are so very alike when you think about it.”

“My brother keeps telling me that.”

“But...you don’t listen to him. You don’t agree with that sentiment.”

Sansa slowly nodded her head. “We may share some characteristics, probably quite a few. But there’s a fundamental difference between us two. I am a proud Northerner and you chose the South.”

“Is that really such a thing to divide us? Your anger and resentment is not directed at the South. It is because of the Lannisters that you have had so much anguish. I’m the person who removed them from power. I am not like them and I never will be.”

“Firstly, do not presume to tell me where my anger lies. Secondly, the Crown corrupts people, no matter what their intentions are. It happened to King Tommen. By all accounts, he was a sweet and innocent boy before he became the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. The same could happen to you.”

“It won’t,” Daenerys said defiantly, now growing annoyed with Sansa’s stubbornness. “The people around me wouldn’t allow that to happen.”

“The people like Varys and Tyrion, who were a part of Tommen’s reign before they left abruptly? Lord Baelish has told me of their shortcomings.”

“They had no part to play in what happened to that boy. You should see that by now but you are blinded by hatred.”

“It is not just my hatred. The North has seen too much, been through too much, to bend the knee again. My loyalties must lie with them before you.”

“And how many of your Northerners have you asked about this?”

“I just know.”

“You just...know.” The wine had been long abandoned, all pretences that this was a pleasant interaction gone. “Not the reassuring stance I’d hoped for. When I asked for a pertinent reason, I was expecting something more than just your gut instincts.”

“My people will not stand for tyranny any longer!” Sansa said in a louder voice, standing up. 

Daenerys copied her action and her demeanour, not allowing herself to be insulted in such a manner. “I am not a tyrant! I have fought against such people all my life. Ask anyone in Slaver’s Bay. The only people I killed were the masters who brought pain and suffering on their people. The people I have fought against in Westeros are those who brought pain and suffering on their people. I do not want to fight you but, if you choose this path, people will go through pain and suffering and you’ll leave me no choice.”

“Is that a threat,  _ your Grace _ ?”

“It is a promise. I fought for this Crown. I lost many people along the way, as your people did. I fought for the Seven Kingdoms. I am not going to give one away because you think you will be better off. You are a new ruler. I’ll put it down to naivety and hope that’s all it is.”

“Not allowing us our own free will. That sounds fairly tyrannical to me.”

“You should learn the proper definitions of words before you use them.”

“Families have promised me their support. House Reed, House Mormont.” Sansa smiled when Daenerys tensed up at the mention of the latter. “Yes. Mormont. How will your knight react when he hears that his own family will stand against you. Will that give him faith in your capabilities? Would he really stay by his side and fight his own blood for you?”

“He left his family a long time ago. This won’t change anything.”

“Who are you trying to convince?”

“I recommend that you be more careful with your words. Many would say such claims and promises of conflict are treasonous to say the least.”

“Then lock me up. Execute me. Ignite the flames of war and tell the people that you could have prevented this if you had simply agreed to my wishes.”

“I’m going to let you leave. This room and the city. Mainly because I care for your brother and I don’t wish to cause him any heartbreak. But I’ll leave you with these parting words: I am the Queen. You are nothing more than one of my subjects. If you ever speak to me like this again, I will destroy you. Now, that is a threat.”

Sansa gaped at her words, taken aback by the ferocity. She stood for a moment in silence before stalking out of the room. Daenerys clutched the table so hard that her knuckles turned white as she took a deep breath. Had she made the right decision? It was the only decision in her eyes.

**********

The throne room was strangely quiet, most of the people outside, enjoying the tourney. The sun was out, a more common occurrence nowadays since Spring was upon them, meaning people actively wanted to be outside of the Red Keep. Although some light managed to trinkle in, especially through the cracks in the wall that were nearly finished, it was still an overwhelmingly dark room, something Daenerys had planned to change when she got the chance. But some people in the kingdom were better suited to the shadows, especially the man who was looking upon the new throne with a distasteful eye. Games were so much easier to be played when you were unseen. You could move about without anyone else noticing, rising and growing in strength before they could react properly. That was how one would claim power in this world. The queen claimed to have won it through the burning light of flames but he knew that the winners who ultimately prevailed, the ones that lasted, had to be less obvious and conspicuous by that. He had made it his life’s work and, despite the occasional setbacks which were to be expected in anyone’s life, he had to say that he was succeeding.

Petyr Baelish, dressed in a smart black doublet, a silver mockingbird on his chest, stood unmoving as he took in the room. Beside the brooch sat another, a bear with open jaws. The symbol of his new loyalties. He would often laugh at the word. Loyalties were the frailest substance in the Seven Kingdoms, he’d found. They became even more stretched and likely to break when weighed down by coin. But, regardless of that knowledge, the word  _ loyalty _ was so strong that it could save a man’s life. A simple promise with no proof of you abiding to it could grant you access to the most strictly guarded of areas, the most private of conversations. His world of shadows had only been created because of previous loyalties to a family now dead, their ashes just as dark as his realm, and it was only expanding now because of new loyalties to a family he had never even thought about beforehand. It was almost too easy. No one else who had done even remotely what he had done would have been allowed to step foot in the capital without being swiftly executed. Because of his loyalties and the protection they shrouded him in, he was free to walk about the castle itself. It was almost too easy.

He stared at the throne, something he allowed himself to admire. But he never got it into his head that he  _ wanted  _ it. He didn't want to be king. When you had a crown on your head, there were certain expectations of you and you definitely couldn’t survive in the dark like he had been doing. You had to operate out in the open and that really wasn’t his style. In public, you had to stick rigidly to loyalties and that made  _ talking _ with people just too difficult. It was a conundrum; loyalties were what kept the Realm afloat but they also hindered its peoples’ free will, if there was such a thing. The throne was the only thing of note in the chamber. He had to say that it was a dreary spot and that was him being polite. It was probably because they were leaving the decorations for until the construction work was done but that was no excuse; the queen was forgetting the simple principle that appearances mattered. It was why he wore his badges with pride, to show off his allegiances. It was why he wore fine clothes, to remind people that he was  _ important _ . If Queen Daenerys was not adhering to this, what else were her council not telling her to do. If they continued in this fashion, they would never succeed.

Sansa would succeed though, he could tell. She was strong, even stronger than when he had last seen her. He had managed to speak to her a few times during their journey down to Kings Landing, repeating the same message of how the North was behind her, no matter what decisions she made. He told her how that was the benefit of being a Stark; the other houses had to cower in its might and follow it. They’d be ruined otherwise. He had seen how her resolve had strengthened further because of his assurances. Whispers were a useful tool because everyone else ended up forgetting who had said them but they always remembered the words spoken. Sansa Stark wanted independence; who was he to deny that for her? The kingdom being stable and  _ unified _ was of no benefit to him. He required chaos to thrive and he would have chaos again.

“It’s much more pleasant to look at, don’t you think?” a calm voice said behind him. Varys entered the throne room, gliding on soft slippers that masked his footsteps. No wonder he hadn’t heard him enter. Littlefinger made sure to keep a smile on his lips. It wouldn’t do to let the Spider know he had rattled him so quickly. “The Throne, I mean. The previous one was a hideous sight, all sharp edges and a symbol death. This one though...is fit for a queen.”

“It certainly is...gold…” Baelish replied, taking in its sight again. “More so than I would have expected from  _ our _ queen. I thought she was meant to despise wealth and what it represents. That’s what the common people say, anyway.”

“She distrusts those who use wealth to only serve themselves. But she knows what the use is of having a lot of coin behind you.”

“Wouldn’t you say that’s fairly hypocritical of her?”

“I would call it more...pragmatic. And the Queen is free to have whatever beliefs she desires because after all, she is the queen. It is merely our job to serve those beliefs to the best of our abilities.”

“I didn't realise that I was tasked with serving her. She isn’t my employer.”

“If that’s the case, I’m left to wonder why you’re in here then. Alone.” Varys hadn’t smiled since he’d spotted Baelish, his face set in a grimace at the other man’s presence. 

“I’m allowed to admire this place like anyone else. I’m free to move about as much as I like since I’m a guest of the queen.”

“A guest she doesn’t know.”

“You haven’t been telling her about me? I’m insulted, Lord Varys. I thought we were friends.”

Varys’ grimace only tightened. “Why would I trouble her with stories of someone so...unimportant and insignificant to her?”

“That’s where you’re wrong. The Starks and Mormonts are growing closer, which is such a splendid development. Will she view me as insignificant when I stand by the side of her opponent?”

“Sansa Stark is not an enemy of the Crown. Far from it.”

“Your skills have lost their edge over the years, Varys. Your knowledge is outdated already. Have your little birds not been singing yet? It’s only a matter of time.”

“What have you done?”

“Nothing at all. I am merely an advisor, nothing more. I  _ serve _ , just like you said. I want to know that Lady Sansa has reliable people by her side. Strong willed. Resilient.”

“Are those words you use to describe yourself?”

“When compared with you, I’m afraid they are. Tell me, does the queen know about your betrayal? How you tried to get her killed when she was just growing into her power? Or how the Mormont knight worked with you? What about little Lord Tyrion, who would always put his family first.”

“She knows what she needs to know. She knows what has happened in the past. And she still keeps us close because we are the ones who will keep her on that throne you like to look at.”

“So she is perfectly aware that her council is made up of traitors, smugglers and sellswords? Is that what the people need right now?”

“They’ll never need you. And you’re forgetting one component of her council, an important one you would be careful not to forget.”

“The warlock? Oh, I know all about him. An old man. Has already been removed from her side once because of one act. How many more times will it take before she loses him for good?”

“I don’t know what your intentions are but I’ll tell you this: you can’t win.”

Baelish chuckled mirthlessly, walking away from the throne. Varys turned his head to watch his departure, Baelish’s eyes locked with his. “I already have you worrying about me and I haven’t even started. If that’s not the definition of winning, then what is?”

**********

Bruda let out a tired groan as he pulled his boots off, wiggling his toes once his feet were free. The day definitely hadn’t gone the way he’d expected. The previous evening, he had been ready to leave this life behind him, no matter how much it hurt him to do so. Then that strange woman, Ustrina, had started talking to him and, before he knew it, he was in front of Daenerys once again, getting his job back when hardly any time had passed. He had a soft smile on his face as he got ready to go to bed, his cloak long abandoned on the chair by the window. He ran his hands through his grey beard, his fingers often getting stuck in the many tangles present. Melisandre would often suggest that he get it groomed, normally when he complained about its messy nature, but he’d always counter with the point that he would no longer look as wild and uncontrollable as he did now. He knew she wouldn’t say anything against that because he knew she enjoyed that side of his character. A wicked smirk lit up at the thought of how he knew just how much she enjoyed that. It was strange. When he had agreed with Tyrion to leave the Red Keep, it had initially been easy to leave her behind because she would have been safer without him. But, as soon as he stepped foot outside of the castle’s mighty stone walls, the lack of her presence had left him feeling a pang of sorrow he hadn’t felt for a long time. What had she done to him? There had been a time when he had closed himself off from other people because it was easier. Because, when one did that, they removed any possibility of getting hurt. And it had worked for many years, if that could be seen as a positive, until he had met Daenerys and subsequently Melisandre. It would have been easy for him decades ago to have walked away from this situation but now...he simply couldn’t. Ustrina had been the one to recommend he stay that night but he had been far too quick to agree. Was this worth getting hurt once again?

He glanced over at the red haired woman and knew what the answer to that question was straight away. Her alluring figure enticed him, her smile and those red lips left him wanting nothing more than to see that every day for the rest of his life. She was clad in a thin nightshirt, a piece of red fabric that didn't even try to hide anything. He was intoxicated by the sight of her, all thoughts of his worries and troubles disappearing as he looked at her, admired her, fell in love with her all over again. He often wondered what went through her mind on a daily basis. He wanted to know how she was coping with this new life. But it wasn’t something they often talked about, those private topics left unsaid and avoided for the most part. It was partly his fault because his instinct was to stay clear of such conversations, to stop him opening up since that meant he was okay with getting hurt. But it was also down to the way her life had been and how her faiths had corrupted her. He could tell that they had made a certain degree of progress, that was clear in how close they were getting with each passing hour alone. And he was looking forward to growing even closer together over the years, if she was willing for that to happen.

He must have been staring as he delved into his thoughts because he soon noticed that Melisandre had picked up on his distant looks. She sauntered over to him, accentuating the curves of her body. He couldn’t have looked away even if he wanted to. Maybe she had actually mastered her form of magic and was using it to put a spell on him. She didn't have to. He couldn’t believe she was still with him, wanting to spend time with him. An old codger with a winning smile. As she reached him, she placed herself in Bruda’s lap. He smirked up at her and continued to smile as she put her hands on either side of his face and leant down to capture his lips with hers. It wasn’t the most passionate of kisses they’d shared but it was by far his favourite. It spoke of commitment and an emotional bond that neither of them were brave enough to put into words. They eventually had to part because breathing is sadly an important process for survival but she stayed close to him, staring into his eyes, searching them for answers. If only he knew the questions.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly, stroking his long hair. 

Bruda closes his eyes at the feel of her touch. “Tired.” His reply came with a smile. “I’m an old man. I’m always tired.”

“That’s a lie. You’re always so full of energy. I imagine, if I did a few certain things...you’d rediscover that energy in an instant.”

He raised his eyebrows at what she was insinuating, kissing her again, a quicker one this time. “You’re right about that. Just you sitting here is...giving me energy.”

She laughed at his comment and he was filled with pride because he’d been the one to make her do that. Melisandre hit him on the shoulder. “I don’t see you as an old man, you know.”

“Have you been drinking with Lannister? Do I need to take you to Marwyn so he can cure whatever is wrong with your head.”

She hit him again, with slightly more force this time. “I’m serious. You are so full of life that it doesn’t matter to me how old you actually are. And you fill me with life too, not just because of what you did with your magic.”

“I’m glad to be of service,” he said, wondering where this was coming from. Maybe that progress he’d been hoping for was coming earlier than he’d anticipated.

“The Keep was a much darker place without you in it,” she admitted, still not tearing her gaze from his. “All of that life was sucked out from it when you left. I didn't know what I’d do without you.”

“Come now, I was gone for no more than a day. It can’t have been that bad. Did you carry on working with Marywn like I said?”

“I did. He was sweet. Trying to cheer me up the best he could, giving me difficult puzzles to solve to keep me occupied. But it didn't work.”

“I’m sorry. I didn't want to put you through all of that.”

“Don’t ever apologise for who you are. You always want to help people, especially Daenerys. You were just doing that and it worked out in the end.”

“Still…” He was silenced by another kiss. If that was her way of shutting him up, he would gladly never utter a word again.

“Thankfully, that woman came to your rescue.” Melisandre’s arched eyebrow told him that this wasn’t as innocent a question as it seemed. “How did she help you?”

“I was about to leave the city when she started talking to me. Just approached me, completely out of the blue. Then she said I could stay in her room at the inn by the Mud Gate. She kept me from leaving.”

“You slept with her?”

His eyes widened, realising what his words had sounded like. “Gods no! Separate beds.” That seemed to quell any of her fears.

“Doesn’t that seem a little suspicious to you? She just happens to have a room with two beds. She approaches you when she claims to not know who you are before making you decide to stay close to the queen. Can we trust her?”

His reply wasn’t the one she wanted. “I don’t know.” He shrugged his shoulders. As he moved, his eyes landed on the chest by the wall. He hadn’t done anything with it yet. It just seemed like a normal object. So why was he so drawn to it? “When you put it like that, it doesn’t make much sense. But...she’s just a young woman. It may seem like she has ulterior motives but she said everything she did was done because she wants to be nice. Can’t there be one person in this world who is driven just by that?”

“You do realise that you’ve come across women who are more powerful than they seem?” she pointed out.

“Oh, definitely. But she doesn’t compare to you, or even Daenerys. I think it’s only fair that I give her a chance. Repay her for helping me.”

“If you’re so certain…” She stood up, moving over to the bed. “But now...I don’t want to talk about another woman. I want to be able to make sure you’re actually back.” It was safe to say that Bruda had never moved just as fast.

It was later in the night, as darkness descended upon the city and they slept peacefully, their bodies wrapped together, that the lock on the chest clicked open. The lid raised up, exposing what it contained. Inside the box, there was nothing visible at first. But then a murky black mist rose up from the object, like a deformed claw made of dirty smoke, a monstrous shadow reaching out towards them. It billowed around the chest for a moment before it dissipated into the air, evidence of its existence vanishing with it. The chest closed, the lock clicked shut...nothing had happened. But everything had changed.


	13. Love and Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple is shattered forever but why is their memory so important?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a bit different...

A small white cottage sat in a field, alone and far away from any other people. A plume of smoke was billowing out from the chimney as a water wheel spun slowly, churning up the pool it was placed in. It was quiet and peaceful, their one slice of private paradise, even if it wasn’t the largest property in the kingdom. But it suited them and it made them happy. That was all that mattered at the end of the day. They could have lived on the street, outside one of the decrepit whorehouses that littered the realm, begging for money or food so that they could simply survive another day - yet they’d be in one another’s company and they would be happy. People didn't understand their relationship, which was why they had moved away. The village she had grown up in, where her family still lived and worked, had looked down upon her husband. She couldn’t understand why there was such hatred and animosity directed towards them but she had vowed to never subject him to those feelings herself. It had taken a very brave septon (or money-hungry, if you looked at it that way) to marry them in secret, lest anyone find out and try to stop it. But no one had, the small and quick ceremony had come to an end, and they had moved away to their little cottage on the remote farm, making them unabashedly happy. It was a good job that the North had so much open space to build upon and escape to, not like the South, which people said was growing exponentially with every day. It had meant they could choose wherever they wanted to go, eventually picking somewhere in the hills to settle down, close to the road that ran through the middle of the Kingdoms. Her husband had built the house faster than anyone could possibly imagine; she guessed that he must have just been incredibly excited to have this new life or nervous to get away from the old one.

The woman inside sat by the table, her elbow resting on the windowsill, supporting her head, as she looked out towards the countryside and rolling hills. Her long brown hair flowed past her shoulders in parts, despite her best efforts to tie it into a bun. She smirked at that, thinking about how her husband claimed to prefer it when it was free and loose since it made her look wilder and more care free. He was out in the field somewhere, occupying himself with some strange fascination like he normally did. That was regardless of the fact that a thin haze of rain filled the air, a slight drizzle that made everything drenched somehow. He would end up moaning about getting wet, she would counter that he only had himself to blame, and he would sigh in defeat and peck her on the lips, the sign of acceptance that she had won the small back and forth. Her green eyes settled on the grey clouds in the skies, big ugly things that she didn't like the look of. To her, they weren’t just bringing bad weather with them. A different kind of storm was approaching, she could feel it in her bones and how her skin prickled at the sight. She tried to put that thought to the back of her mind, failing to do so. She was probably just being overly dramatic and paranoid, her husband evidently rubbing off on her. He was always obsessed with the more mystical things of life and it seemed that he was being a bad influence on her. She didn't mind though - she reckoned that, if everyone looked at the world in the same way he did, it would be a much better place. 

It wasn’t a good place though. They were away from the true horrors going on. The Realm was constantly fighting over one thing or another. Even when they claimed that peace had settled amongst the families in power, there was still trouble and pain and suffering. So much loss. It was another reason why they had chosen to leave when they did; they didn't have to be a part of it when they were alone in the hills. The only company they had were the few horses they kept and looked after. She sometimes missed the community of her home village but she would always choose to trade away all of that for just a day alone with her love. She had been lucky enough to get that for life so maybe the world wasn’t so bad after all. 

The backdoor slammed open, letting in some of the rain. She stood up from her watching position as a young man entered, muttering under his breath. His cloak was pulled up over his head to protect him from the worst of the weather but he still looked sodden. She was by his side quickly, pulling the coat off him, trying to keep the floor from getting wet. She clucked her tongue as she inspected the shape he was in, rolling her eyes. She was also taking the opportunity to admire his face, the one she adored so much. His beard was growing out although it was still fairly short. His hair, a dark brown just like the hair on his face, had grown a bit more since they’d left, slowly becoming scraggly and a bit of a mess. It added to his charm, if she were being honest.

“You could have told me that it was going to rain,” he moaned as he moved further into the room, taking a seat by the table as he ran a hand through his brown locks. 

“So I now have the ability to predict the future and the weather, do I?” she retorted with a raised eyebrow. “Who’s idea was it to go outside when the sky was greying, hmm?”

He bit his lip. “...maybe you’re right.”

“You know I am.” She was standing over him and she bent down to get the kiss she was owed. He gladly paid up.  _ She loved being right _ . As their kiss lingered and deepened, both of them smirking, he spun in his chair and pulled her onto his lap. She let out a small yelp of surprise, hitting him on the chest.

“I can smell food cooking. What are you making me?”

“Nothing if you carry on doing tricks like that,” she admonished. He pouted good naturedly and she had to laugh again. “Rabbit stew with a few vegetables. I’m sorry it’s nothing fancy and quite repetitive but we caught a few recently and I’m not having them go off.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. I love your stews. I’ll eat them everyday for the rest of my life if I have to! Maybe I’ll do the cooking tomorrow, as a special treat.”

“Do you want the rest of your life to be one more day? You’d poison us as soon as you went to get the meat ready.” She kissed him again to stop him from complaining about the insult.

“You might be right about that.”

“How are the horses doing anyway?”

“They’re fine. A bit grumpy about the weather but I sheltered them as best I could. I think they’re just restless. They want to get out and do what horses do. I guess...gallop and eat.”

“They eat plenty enough. Almost as much as you. But, if the weather picks up tomorrow or the day after, we’ll go out riding with them. We’ll be able to see who’s the fastest.” She grinned at him. He loved how her eyes lit up when she got competitive.

“Do you really want to embarrass yourself like that, dear?” he asked innocently.

“Let it be known that, if you win, it’s simply because I decided to  _ let _ you so that your ego doesn’t become too bruised. Because you’ll sulk otherwise.”

“I will not!” he shouted with a laugh. She jumped from his lap as his fingers headed for her waist. He began to chase her around the room, the both of them cackling like children. He eventually managed to catch her and pinned her against the edge of the table. They were both breathless and he had to stop himself from staring too much at the way her chest was moving up and down. Her pupils were dilated, as were his, as they looked at one another. His lips were soon on hers once again, more hungrily this time, more passionate. He rested her forehead against hers once they parted, smiling at her.

“What would I do without you?” he wondered. “The one woman who can match my energy and survive to tell the tale.”

“Oh, you’d be useless. You’d hardly be able to feed yourself. And you’d grow bored of your own company within an hour. Thankfully, I’ve had lots of practice with dealing with you so I can just about manage.”

“ _ Deal with me _ ? You make me sound like some crazed animal!”

“I didn't mean to. You’re much worse than any untamed beast I’ve ever come across!”

“What will our children be like? Will they be just as crazed and wild?”

“I certainly hope so. Where would the fun be if they were just  _ boring _ and  _ normal _ ? Our girls will be creative, smart and want to challenge every tradition in the book. Our boys will be strong, powerful and, most of all, as daring as their father.”

“How many children are we having?”

She pretended to think. “One hundred!” she declared with a bright smile. “Enough to raise an entire army.”

“I like the sound of that. I think we best get started, don’t you?”

They were interrupted by an unexpected sound. The unmistakable noise of metal horseshoes banging against the muddy ground outside, the beasts galloping towards their home. The man stood up promptly to look outside, catching sight of five men on horseback, all clad in robust steel armour emblazoned with the king’s sigil. Whatever happiness he had been feeling a second ago disappeared as he frowned at their arrival. An unnatural anger began to consume and he knew that he needed to get a control of himself if he were to properly deal with their unwanted presence. The first thing he did was push his wife down so that she couldn’t be seen through the window. His one goal was to protect her no matter what. He had an inkling as to why these soldiers were trespassing on their land and he knew that it had nothing to do with her. She didn't deserve any of this, being roped into his mess because she had been foolish enough to fall in love with him. 

“What is it? Who are they?” she asked quickly and nervously. It was strange how such a pleasant moment could descend into utter terror in a heartbeat. Life wasn’t fair. He should have realised this by now. He could tell that she already had an idea as to what this meant. They’d found him.

“Whatever happens, promise me that you will stay in here,” he implored as he grasped her by the shoulders, practically shaking her he was pleading that much. “You have to stay safe and alive. Don’t worry about me. You know I can sort them out.”

She kissed him again, not as joyful as before but just as filled with love. Salty tears marred the taste of their embrace but they didn't care in the slightest. “How can I watch from here if they start...doing something to you? Hurting you? Attacking you?”

“You’re just going to have to. Stay hidden. They might try to come into the house and I don’t want them finding you. Please. I don’t want to think about what they’d do to you if they found you here.”

“Just...be careful, won’t you?”

“Who do you think I am? It’s like you don’t even know me. I’m always careful.” He kissed her on the head, savouring the touch, before heading outside. He glared at the men ahead of him as he stepped through the door. They were still on their horses as he approached, his own animals obviously nervous at what was taking place. He patted one of his stallions, a brown specimen with a wild mane of black hair. He was a quick steed, that was for sure. Maybe it would be possible for them to outrun the knights. He examined the animals they sat atop of, noting their muscular build and strong legs. That possibility was very unlikely and he wasn’t about to run away from his home. He had to make a stand. It was his duty to himself and his wife.

“What can I do for you fine gentlemen?” he greeted with a forced smile. If he was polite enough, would they just go away on the basis that he was a nice person? He could dream, at least.

“You’re going to come with us, that’s what,” the man in the middle said, a gruff voice with a noticeable southern accent. They had travelled a long way it seemed. He was hopeful that would mean that they were tired and therefore slower to react.

“Woah, woah. Come now, gentlemen. Let’s not get carried away. Our conversation has only just started. I'll tell you what, I’ll be kind and let us start over again. So, first things first: you’re going to tell me why you’re on my land. Uninvited, I might add.”

“The King has rights to all of the land in the Kingdom,” another soldier barked. Through his helm, he could see a pair of dark, calculating eyes and a cold sneer. Why were they always bred to be so pompous? “Including this pitiful place.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. This is my property. Paid for by me, built by me, lived in by me. So the one person you have to ask to come here is...me. I hope I’m not making this too difficult for you. I don’t know how long they bothered to teach you for before they put a wooden sword in your hand.”

“You’ll watch your tongue,” one of them said from the far left. He was on a white horse, his armour catching the thin ray of sun that was poking through the clouds, the drizzle still pouring. He hadn’t bothered to put his cloak back on in his haste to meet them. He was regretting that now.

“Quite impossible an act, I’m afraid. Both literally and figuratively. Tell me, why are you here? I’d like to know before I send you on your way. I’m a curious fellow. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

“We know who you are,” the leader said. “And what you are. The king wants to see you. Alive or hopefully dead.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong. Is it a crime for living nowadays?” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“It is when you’re doing it.”

“If only the law was just and targeted the oaths of the kingdom. Then you wouldn’t be standing here and annoying me.”

The soldier appeared to ignore his insult, although he was sure he could see his cheeks go red. “Is she here too? We were told you’d somehow found a lady wife. The folks in town believe you must have done something to her head for that to happen.”

“Am I really that undesirable? I find that a lot of women are attracted to my charming charisma and dashing good looks.”

“Answer the question or I’ll be forced to get the answer out of you.”  _ Ah, so the threats were beginning now. How...delightful. _

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, frankly. If I have a wife, it’s news to me. If you find her, will you tell her that she’s doing a pretty poor job at looking after the house...and me, for that matter.”

“I think you’re lying.”

“Were you raised to be this mistrustful or is it just a part of your personality?” He only got a deeper glare at that. He let out a sigh, glancing back at the house. “Fine. I do have a wife but she’s not here. She went to the market a few miles down the road you came from. You probably rose right past her.”

The soldier’s eyes seemed to scrutinise him even more. “I’m this mistrustful because I have to deal with people like you. I want to believe you though.” He gestured his head to one of his companions, nodding towards the house. “If you’re telling the truth, you won’t mind my friend taking a look around your...home.” The armoured knight dismounted from his horse, walking towards the cottage. The metal he wore clinked and jangled as he moved. 

The owner of the house stood his ground for as long as he could, watching the other man as he moved away from him. But, as he got close to the door, thoughts of his gorgeous wife and how she wouldn’t be able to protect herself flashed through his mind, forcing him to act. His eyebrows set in a firm frown as anger billowed up inside of him. His hand became warmer as wisps of golden energy circled his fingertips, flowing over his fingers and then his right hand. The strange force became a deeper colour as it grew wilder. Without looking at the other men, he turned around and motioned to throw the energy, now in the shape of a glowing ball, towards the soldier closest to his home. As it connected with his back, he let out a startled cry before slumping to the floor, left motionless. He had contemplated just knocking him out, which would have been the better thing to do. But his emotions had gotten the best of him and the man on the ground was dead for sure. But, with his attention directed on that and his back to the others, he couldn’t react in time as the leader of the group jumped from his horse at the sight of his comrade falling. He grabbed ahold of their target with his large, meaty hands, placing his unsheathed sword against the base of his neck. The sharp steel was already beginning to draw blood despite it hardly touching his skin.

“That was a very foolish thing to do,” he murmured despite the small grin on his face. “I was told that if you didn't cooperate, I’d be free to defend myself and my fellow men in whatever means I find reasonable. Thanks for giving me an excuse to do this.” He closed his eyes, thinking about what he could do. It would be easy for him to use his magic again. He just needed to concentrate on that, not on the image of his wife being left alone and helpless after his death.

“No!” His heart shattered into a million pieces when he heard the strangled cry of his wife as she came running outside, wielding a kitchen knife dangerously. He should have told her to flee instead of stay inside. That had been his first mistake. “You need to leave him alone! Let him go! He hasn’t done anything wrong! You’re hurting him!” From the distance between them, he could still make out the fresh flow of tears staining her face as she looked at him. He tried to yell out, to shout at her and to tell her to get on a horse and get as far away as possible from here. But the soldier who was holding him tightly just dug the blade slightly deeper, making him wince.

“I really did want to trust you. This is why you need to be brought in,” he whispered. “To face justice and death. You’re not only an obvious liar but you’re also dangerous. You’ve killed one of my men here already. And now you’ve got your wife killed as well. Pity. She’s a pretty thing. Maybe we’ll have some fun with her before she’s completely cold.” That was a step too far, the mental image causing a fury he’d never experienced before. Magical energy built up inside of him and he sent a small pulse hurtling outwards, firing the soldier away from him. He turned around quickly as the other man regained his footing, rubbing away a spot of blood that was pooling around the corner of his mouth. The other three soldiers were off their horses, swords drawn as they landed on the floor. Two headed straight for him, charging. They were faster than he expected but he was still able to deflect one assailant with a flick of his wrist. The only issue he had was that he had nothing to defend himself against the blows heading in his direction. He was forced to take cover as one blade came crashing down near his head, splintering a wooden frame. He picked up a fragment of the wreckage. It did nothing more than distract one of his enemies rather than cause any damage but it gave him enough time to send a golden streak of colour at one of them, sending them careening into a small wagon. It exploded on impact, a cloud of dust and dirt forming. They couldn’t tell if the soldier had survived but it seemed unlikely. The others didn't seem to care about their compatriot falling. It was then that a dreaded feeling washed over him; these men weren’t the most well trained of fighters, which he’d been anticipating. They were sacrifices, bodies sent to overwhelm him with little regard if they survived the fight. That made them even more dangerous because they had nothing to lose.

A cry sounded off to one side and his world stopped in an instant. He forgot all about the attackers as his eyes landed on one of them. His sword was pointing out of his wife’s stomach, covered in crimson blood that was dripping onto the floor, mixing with the mud and the rain to make a horrid concoction. She was looking directly at him, her knife dropped to the ground too. By the looks of the killer, with the fresh and bloody scars that marred his face, she’d been able to do some damage to him but evidently not enough. It was his fault again. Another mistake. He’d been too distracted by the ones heading for him that he’d forgotten to protect his love, the one promise he had vowed to keep when they married. She dropped to her knees, the sword removed from her gut. She was holding the wound, her hands stained red, in the vain effort of keeping the blood in. It wouldn’t work. He knew that. He wanted to believe that she would be alright but his brain and his cold instincts got the better of him. 

He was smirking. The leader of the group was smirking. That’s what drove him over the edge. Not just the fact that one person who had ever seen him as a normal person was lying on the ground, about to leave him forever. It was the fact that they simply didn't care. They didn't have any remorse for taking the life of a vibrant young woman who would have given so much to the world. He clenched his fists as the golden energy returned once again. It was even darker and wilder, a torrent of uncontrollable rage and anguish. It took on a form of its own, flowing into a whirlwind of light and darkness, the two intermixed as they always were in life. With a pained shout, he threw his arms out. The tornado broke apart, splintering into multiple shockwaves. The soldiers who were still alive were swept off of their feet, made to hang in the air. They held their throats as the ability to breath was slowly taken from them. Their arms and hands, no longer holding their weapons, were reaching out towards him as if he would take pity on them or have mercy. He wasn’t that sort of man anymore. Maybe when he’d had a wonderful life ahead of him as a prospect. But that had gone now, along with any kind nature he had left within him. If the Realm saw him as a monster, maybe that was the role he was destined to play. The men let out unified screams of pain as they disintegrated into ash and bones, forming small piles on the ground. They were soon blown away by the wind or by the breeze kicked up as their horses fled away from the scenes of their death. Maybe people in the village would realise what their presence without their riders would signify; maybe that was a good thing.

He rushed over to her body, falling to the mud. She was still clinging onto life, the spark in her eyes still there...just. Hanging on but diminishing, losing their gleam. He sobbed at the sight of her, trying to do something for her fatal wound. She did something that he hadn’t been expecting - she shushed him as she moved his hands away. She made sure to keep her fingers interlocked with his as she stared up at him. Those beautiful green eyes. This wasn’t how he wanted to remember them. He needed to focus on the memories of them looking at him when they first met or after they’d first kissed. That special sort of magic even he couldn’t come up with.

“Stop now,” she said in a quiet, tired voice. The effort and pain was clear on his face. She was using up the last bits of energy she had to speak to him. “There’s nothing you can do now for me apart from be by my side.”

“But...this isn’t fair! This shouldn’t have happened to you,” he cried out.

“I was looking out for you. I’d die for no other cause.”

“That wasn’t supposed to be your job though. It was meant to be my role to protect you and I failed.”

“I’ll...have none of that.” Her voice was growing fainter. “You will not wallow in self pity after this. I won’t allow it. You’re going to be alone now and you’re not good at that. You need to find someone else.”

“There won’t be anyone who can live up to you though.”

She smiled through the pain. “There will be. One day. I just know it. You have to believe me. But she can’t be as pretty as me, otherwise I’ll be jealous and we can’t be having that.”

“I was going...to cook for you tomorrow.”

“Then maybe it’s possible that I got a sweeter fate, avoiding that. I’ve got to look at the positives.”

“We were going to have a hundred children. A small army, you said. I’ll gladly have five hundred if that’ll keep you with me.”

Her grip on his hand tightened. “They’ll just have to stay as a wonderful dream. The world wouldn’t be ready for their greatness anyway. But they’ll survive in your head.”

“I...don’t know what to do,” he said as he choked back another sob.

“There’s one thing you can do. I’m going through a lot of pain here. I know that you can help me with that.”

His eyes widened as he realised what she was implying. His magic had so many wonderful abilities but its potential to kill was foremost. “I can’t do that. Don’t make me do that.”

“Please. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary. Let me go out with this one last victory. That I got to decide when I die, not this stupid wound.”

His hands began to shake as he nodded his head regrettably and reluctantly. She smiled again as she let go of his hand. He didn't want to lose that connection but her touch was gone. She was still looking up at him, a sad smile slowly fading. Soft tendrils of golden energy played at his fingertips and she took a firm breath in acceptance. 

“Say good night,” she instructed. “Say good night so I can finally sleep. And so I know that you’ll still be awake.”

Through the tears and the golden glow, he managed to utter those last words to her. “Good night...Isabella.”

**********   


Bruda woke up with a start, beads of sweat running down his face. He was met with darkness, a slither of moonlight peaking through the curtains. Why had he been dreaming about that? He had no idea. It had been a long time since those memories had resurfaced unprompted and even longer since they had been so agonisingly vivid. On high alert, he looked around the room. No one was there apart from Melisandre, who was sleeping beside him. His eyes landed on the chest but that hadn’t changed in appearance either. Fearful of seeing Isabella’s face again but knowing that he needed to rest, he kissed Melisandre on the head gently before putting his head back on the pillow.


	14. Coldness and Admissions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ramifications of Daenerys and Sansa's conversation begin to hit home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll have noticed that the updates are taking a little longer. I realised that writing 4500-5000 words in 3 days was too much. From now on, I'll be doing at least one update a week. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere

Jon Snow had actually had a good night’s sleep for once and that wasn’t just down to having a soft bed underneath him for a change, a luxury that could only be a distant dream beyond the Wall. He was able to sleep well because his mind was at rest, something that hadn’t happened since he’d joined the Night’s Watch and his life had changed forever. This trip had been the perfect escape for him, especially with leading the Free Folk being even more demanding and time consuming than he had imagined going into it. And he had known that it would be extremely tough for him. The tourney allowed him rare time to relax. Other than worrying about Tormund accidentally killing someone during one of the events, his mind was able to settle peacefully. He did have distant thoughts about his sister and what she planned to do with Daenerys (he was praying for nothing to change so that life could continue in the smooth manner it was currently in); but he calmed himself down by reassuring himself that she had advisors by her side who would stop her from making any rash decisions and irreversible mistakes. That mindset had almost given him permission to enjoy his time in the capital since he didn't know when he would be back, or even if he would be.

Excluding the time he had travelled down for Daenerys’ coronation meal, which didn't really count as that was only for a short period of time, this was his first stay in the South. It was a completely different world to the one he had grown up in, even more so compared to the life he had had on the Wall. Whereas Winterfell had been surrounded by large expanses of open green land and roaming fields that stretched on for miles, King’s Landing was a stone behemoth, a claustrophobic city consisting of tight streets and tall buildings. It was a densely packed area too. Even higher up where the tourney fields were located, it was still often difficult to move about without bumping into a horde of people. He had to remind himself that that was probably down to the crowds gathering there but the point still stood. He had thought that Castle Black was cramped and full to its capacity, despite it only having a fraction of its usual number, but you could go hours on end without seeing anyone in that place. Here, there was little privacy and no time to think. You couldn’t pause for even one second or you would be swept away by the tide of its people.

There was a blatant contradiction about the capital though. Regardless of that lack of personal space and the knowledge that a pair of eyes was always watching you, one could still have relative anonymity as they walked around. People didn't care who you were most of the time, especially when you were some young man named Jon Snow from the cold kingdom of the North. And that’s what he loved about being here. For all of his life, he had been known as Lord Eddard Stark’s bastard son. He had joined the Wall under the pretense that the people there would treat him just like any other man. But he had always been singled out, referred to as  _ Lord Snow _ along with the chorus of sniggers and laughter. When he walked the busy streets of King’s Landing, he was no one. He was just another person looking to spend a few coins on what they deemed delicacies (what they had to offer was often far from being that), just another person living their life. He often wondered what his life would have been like if he had joined Daenerys when she marched south to take the Throne. He liked to dream about that alternate reality where he had stayed with the people he had grown close to instead of rejoining the wildlings. Maybe he could have started his life anew, as someone other than just a renowned bastard. But he knew that he couldn’t do that. He had a duty towards the Free Folk, to look after them until they no longer needed looking after. He doubted that they would ever reach that point. And, if he were being brutally honest, it was possible that he could have been killed in the battle to take the capital so he had to count himself lucky. 

Jon forced himself to get out of bed. As he removed the sheets, he was met with a cool breeze on his naked body. He didn't know why it was so cold; his window was closed and the sun appeared to be as bright as ever up in the sky. Slightly perplexed, he quickly shrugged a clean undershirt on and a pair of pants. He enjoyed being able to take things slow in a morning. Amongst the wildlings, he was usually woken up by some coming together or ruckus, having to break it up before it became a full on fight. As a guest of the queen, he could even request food to be sent up to the room, which he was very much considering. He couldn’t turn down warm food nowadays when he’d lived for months on cold meat back in the day. He was actually about to send his order down when he was interrupted by an unexpected knock on the door. For a second, he presumed that the service was even better than he realised, bringing him breakfast before he asked for it. But then common sense prevailed and he figured that that was pretty unlikely since the queen had more important things to worry about than his morning meal. Not caring about his relative state of undress, he moved to the door. He was greeted by the sight of a sour faced soldier waiting for him. He had expected it to be one of the Queensguard since they were in the Keep (he wondered whether he had been moved as he slept) but, instead, it was one of the Northern men who had travelled down with his sister. He didn't know what his name was and, judging by his rather unpleasant expression, he wasn’t going to be someone Jon really wanted to get to know better.

“Lady Stark has sent me to summon you,” the man said with little emotion. It seemed that this knight believed his position put him above doing such menial tasks such as waking up a  _ bastard _ , probably wanting to be out fighting in the tourney instead.

“Does she know what time it is?” Jon responded incredulously, scratching his head and making his hair even messier. 

The soldier ignored his complaint, focusing on the job at hand. “Lady Sansa expects to see you by the Northern gate as soon as possible. She would prefer it if you don’t keep her waiting too long. Oh, and she told me to remind you that you need to bring all of your personal belongings with you.” The dour man turned his head to take a closer look inside Jon’s room. “It seems that you don’t have many with you so that shouldn’t take you a while.” Without waiting for a response, the man walked off back down the corridors, leaving Jon with a hundred thoughts in his head at the same time. The most prominent one though, the one that was really troubling him, was what Sansa had done to prompt this reaction.

He eventually found her where she had instructed, his heart dropping at the sight of the entire northern contingent with her. They should have been at the tourney, the reason they had come here in the first place, to enjoy themselves and get away from the mundane aspect of everyday life. But they were preparing to leave, that much was obvious to him. What concerned him even more was the fact that the Free Folk were gathering there too, seemingly being summoned by someone other than him. He was either being undermined by someone he didn't know or, the more likely event, someone he knew too well. He marched over to Sansa, his angry demeanour causing a few of her soldiers to grip their swords in preparation for a fight. She waved them away, calmly walking over to Jon. The lack of any emotion on her face annoyed him more than what she had done, the blatant disregard for her actions when a leader was supposed to think ahead.

“What are you doing?” came his barked question, avoiding the usual pleasantries.

Sansa allowed him that slip, looking around at the scene unfolding as if it were simple. “We’re leaving.”

“The tourney doesn’t end for another two days. Why would we be going before that finishes?”

“Because my patience for the Queen and her continued lack of openness towards the North has finished. I refuse to stay here and be looked down upon.”

Jon wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. “ _ Openness? _ She’s the one who invited you here! If anyone hasn’t been  _ open _ to the idea of a strong relationship, it’s you!”

“There you go, defending her again. What about the fact that she’s the one who has ordered me to leave her city.”

He froze, taken aback by her statement. “Well...she would have had reason to find that as the logical next step. What did you do? I know you were meant to be having a meeting with her. You didn't...bring up independence again, did you?”

“What else would I have discussed with her? The weather?”

Jon rubbed his hands over his face, tired because of the early hour and because of the idiocy of the woman before him. “Why would you do that?” His shouting was beginning to garner the attention of the many people around them, including confused locals. “I told you that was a bad idea and you completely ignored me. Queen Daenerys wants to work with us, she’s made that clear. So why would you ruin those chances of a better future? Are you really that stubborn?”

“The North does not require her support! We don’t need an outside leader affecting our lives, the one thing we’ve had to put up with for centuries. I made a vow to look after my people and that’s what I’m doing.”

“The only thing you’ve accomplished is jeopardising your peoples’ lives and you don’t seem to realise that. That’s the main thing that’s concerning me.”

“You don’t need to trouble yourself with how I rule my kingdom.”

“Then why are  _ my  _ people here? I didn't summon them so you must have.”

“Like it or not, Jon, they are a part of the North and under my jurisdiction. As are you. They are coming back with me and will continue onto their homes. It’s much better than this place anyway. But what you need to do is to think about whether you want to stay true to your home or the woman who sits on the throne.”

“That shouldn’t be a choice I have to make,” he tried pleading with her. “You can work together.” He didn't want to leave now. He had barely spent any time with the people he had fought with in the war, wanting to trade stories with Davos and Bruda, reminisce about days long gone by with Tyrion. She was taking this from him.

“You were right, you know. You said that we’re too alike. And that’s the problem. We’re similar so there’s bound to be resistance between us, conflict always bubbling away. No one will win if we stay together. By leaving, I’m making sure my people do.”

**********

“You told her to leave?” Bruda’s shout echoed around the bed chamber as he barged in through the door, not waiting to be bid entry. Daenerys and Jorah, who had just been about to start the breakfast set out in front of them, startled in shock at the warlock’s sudden entrance. The Queen was the first to stand up, glaring angrily at the intruder. Sometimes, she thought that he forgot who he was actually dealing with; she often gave him a lot of leeway when it came to how he acted around her but he needed to be reminded that she was still the ruler. He may have been a valuable friend and advisor to her but he was just that - an advisor. Not someone who could come into her room whenever he liked, unannounced and unwanted. She’d had trouble sleeping anyway so she wasn’t in the best of moods to begin with. A strange coldness had laid claim to her room during the night, one that had unsettled her. She had no idea why that was the case but had put the thought aside, believing it was nothing more than her being overly worried. The conversation with Sansa the night before had understandably put her on edge; it seemed that it had had the same effect on Bruda.

He stood there looking at her with one hand on his hip, the other gripping his staff. As Daenerys paid closer attention to the state he was in, she picked up on how tired he looked, almost as tired as was feeling. His face was lacking its usual colour - she’d go as far as saying that he appeared gaunt and the sum of his many years. That wasn’t taking away from this annoyed expression, his eyebrows knitted together as he waited for an explanation. After the troubled memories that had plagued him during the night, he had hoped for a more settled morning to get him back into the swing of things. He should have known that life in the Red Keep was never that simple. He had bumped into Davos in one of the corridors inside the castle on his way outside to take a brisk early walk to calm his nerves. Yet the Master of Ships had informed him of the gathering of the Northerners on the edge of the city; it had been an easy puzzle to piece together in the end, especially when word had spread amongst the workers. 

He ran a hand over his face, his fingers bumping over the many lines on his skin. “You were meant to have a diplomatic conversation with her. That was supposed to be an abundance of pleasantries, a few little promises here and there. What we didn't intend for you to do is start a war!”

Daenerys had had enough of his lack of respect. “Bruda...I know that you are worried about me and the Realm...but it will serve you well to remember who you are talking to!” Her tone was icy and authoritative. The warlock would have been proud if her words hadn’t been directed at him.

Her message seemed to do the trick though. He looked around the room as if he was just realising what he was doing and where he was. With a sigh, he settled down in one of the chairs closest to him, his hand on his knees as he bent forward slightly. “I’m sorry,” he said in a quiet voice. “I’ve got a lot of things on my mind at the moment and this was the last thing I needed. But that isn’t a good enough excuse for how I spoke to you. And I’m usually such a morning person.”

“What things have been troubling you?” All of the disgust she had felt at her treatment melted away, replaced with worry for her friend. 

“Nothing that concerns you, don’t worry.”

Daenerys shared a concerned look with Jorah, knowing that this was a characteristic trait of Bruda. “I hope you’re not keeping secrets from me again.”

He looked at her guiltily. “No. Not this time. It’s actually about things I’ve told you before. It’s just...painful memories coming back to me, I guess.”

He smiled gently at her as she knelt in front of him, guiding her head with her slender hand. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am. Nothing I haven’t dealt with previously. I just don’t know why I’m thinking about it. Now...I’m still waiting for an explanation.”

“I did try to be diplomatic. I told Lady Stark that the two of us could work together and be a formidable force. We could have achieved so much by joining our resources further. But she wouldn’t consider it. She has delusions of grandeur, believing that the North should be its own entity, that it would be better off without the Crown’s influence.”

“Even though you’re the one who helped them win the war.”

“Well...you were the one who did that but I did put that point forward. Again, she wouldn’t listen. She said that they were grateful but that was all.”

“It sounds to me as if Sansa Stark came here with one goal in her mind,” Jorah put forward. “To ask for independence. I don’t think she was ever willing to accept any other outcome, even if she expected that you would never give it to her. Maybe...she knew that it would at least unsettle you.”

“She was partially right about. I won’t give a second thought about her,” Daenerys said resolutely. “But I’m thinking about her people. Those men we fought with, many of whom we saved, some of them who saved us. They’re not my enemies but if she carries on like this, I’ll have to see them as a threat to my rule.”

Bruda tapped his chin in thought. “What about Snow?” Due to his brief absence, he hadn’t been able to spend as much time as he wanted with the young man. They’d had quite a frosty relationship in the past, especially because Jon hadn’t trusted him for a while, but, in the end, they had grown to respect one another. Bruda knew though that he could often be controlled by his sister when she dug her nails into him. “And the Free Folk? Have they gone with her?”

“From all reports, they were spotted with the others,” Jorah said sadly. Varys claims that Snow wasn’t too happy about it. He said that some of the locals saw them shouting in the street of all places, but she’s got the greater authority so he had to bend to her will or risk causing even more tension.”

“If this becomes more serious, we could play on that,” Bruda pointed out with an unmistakable gleam in his eyes.

Daenerys, moving to stand up again, looked at the old man curiously. “What do you mean?”

“From the sound of things, it seems that Sansa wants a war if that will give her what she wants. She may be foolish enough to take us on, regardless of the fact that we outnumber her greatly and have four dragons, but I don’t think that she would be willing to stage battles on two fronts, one further North.”

“Do you really think that Jon would turn against her? She’s his sister.”

“Family loyalties only go so far. Snow is a man of honour before anything else. You won the Throne so you’re the Queen, his queen. He wouldn’t stand against you just because the Lady of the North wants more power. Or so I hope.”

“And, like you said, he fought with us,” Jorah added. “He travelled to the Wall with Bruda and battled the White Walkers by our side.”

“He did that to save the Realm because it was the right thing to do,” Daenerys countered.

“And that’s the crux of the matter,” Bruda interrupted. “ _ The right thing to do. _ Of all the things that are  _ right _ and  _ just _ , defending the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms is top of that list.” He stood up wearily, stopping to look out of the balcony. “So Varys knows about this. I’m presuming that means Tyrion does too.”

Daenerys stepped closer to him, watching his eyes dart over the skyline of the city. She wanted to know what he was truly thinking about. “He wanted to hold an emergency council meeting but I’ve had enough of them recently and this isn’t a problem yet. The journey back to Winterfell may cool her temper. I don’t know her very well but this seems...out of character. Why would she be risking everything for this dream?”

“Someone has obviously been whispering in her ear. Someone she trusts.”

“Baelish,” Jorah mumbled, making them look at him, wanting him to expand. “When she arrived, she was in the company of Petyr Baelish. He used to be on the Small Council. I didn't know him until I went back to Bear Island. He’s the reason why they didn't agree to side with us against the Night King. I’ve spoken about him with Varys and Tyrion and they both responded with the same thing - he’s a manipulator. It could be that he’s doing the same thing with Sansa. Using those dreams she already had and making her have no doubt that that’s what the Kingdom needs and that it’s an attainable goal.”

Daenerys stalked away, angry at the injustice of it all. She slumped in the same chair Bruda had been in moments ago. “Is this what ruling is always going to be like?” Her voice was quiet now. They had to move closer to actually be able to hear her. “People constantly working against me?”

“You’ve had to put up with it in the past. And you dealt with it then so you can deal with it now. Nothing’s changed.”

“That’s the point that annoys me. I thought that, once I had the Throne, people would respect that and allow me to rule as my right allows.”

“You’re not that naive,” Bruda said. “You knew that this wouldn’t be easy but you also knew that it was worth doing. You can suffer a tiny amount of insubordination if it means you’ll help the people.”

“This might not be tiny though. This might be an entire kingdom standing against me.”

Bruda’s nostrils flared and he straightened his back. “Then you will crush an entire kingdom. Whether they like it or not, you are the Queen. You sacrificed almost everything to get here, you put your life on the line. You deserve the power you’ve earnt. You are their ruler so it’s about time that you show these people that it’s going to stay that way.” His impassioned remarks took her aback but they also filled her with a new sense of hope and optimism. Deep down, she understood that, even if they wanted to bring this to a battlefield, they wouldn’t be able to defeat her. Especially when she had close advisors like this.

She was slightly unnerved when she caught him smiling at her, a warm smile that belied the fire that had been in his voice mere seconds ago. She arched an eyebrows as she crossed her arms, wondering what had brought on this sudden change in attitude. “Why are you smiling at me?”

“I didn't know that I wasn’t allowed to smile,” he retorted evasively. Her eyes narrowed, signalling that she wasn’t going to accept that response. “I just remembered the other reason why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Which is?”

Bruda glanced at Jorah agitatedly. “It’s a rather private matter.”

“Jorah knows me the most and is the closest person to me. I love him. Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of him too.”

The warlock shrugged, not really caring about the knight’s presence. “I wanted to discuss the ramifications of our...experiment. You said in the hall that you believed it had worked...I wanted to make sure.”

Daenerys began to smile, her hands instinctively moving to her stomach. “I’m adamant that it did. I feel lighter, purer. Something has been taken from me and I feel free for the first time in ages.”

As Bruda nodded his head and shuffled over to her, resting his hand on her belly, Jorah softly touched her on the shoulder with a confused look. “If this was troubling you for so long, why didn't you mention it before?” He hated the thought of failing to look after her properly for so many years.

“Because...I never expected that there would be any way to solve the issue so I thought that there was no point in worrying everyone else. Even when Bruda joined us, it didn't seem to click until a few days ago.” Her words made the warlock stop his observations to look up at her, not that she noticed, as he tried to figure out why that was. “If I’m honest, it ended up being a part of me that I could simply ignore. Nothing more than background noise.”

“Well...it’s gone now,” Bruda confirmed with a smile. Daenerys helped him up from the floor before wrapping him in a tight, relieved hug. She turned to Jorah once she parted, kissing him full on the lips, taking the two men by surprise. “There’s no residual magical traces within you, except for the little bit left over by yours truly and the inherent magic you carry.”

“Daenerys has magic too?” Jorah asked in shock. He could barely keep up with one warlock, he didn't need the woman he was destined to marry to be one too.

“I had this conversation with her already.” He sounded almost annoyed that he was being inconvenienced by Jorah’s lack of information, when it was impossible for him to know any better. “She’s the Mother of Dragons. She’s bound to have some magic in her. Just not so much that she’ll be performing spells and tricks any time soon.”

“I can have children.” Daenerys’ voice was little more than a whisper as she finally allowed it to sink in. “We can have children.” She snuggled further into Jorah’s embrace as she thought about that prospect.

“Although I don’t really want to be thinking about the two of you...making children...something needs to happen before you that can happen,” Bruda said pointedly. “Something that I know you two will have discussed. The fact that neither of you have brought it up with me since...I can only conclude that Jorah was left in a puddle of tears.”

Daenerys hit him as she fired a mock glare in his direction. “He was very nervous about asking me. That was probably down to the fact that he went to you for advice on the matter. But I said yes. We just thought that it wasn’t the best time to announce it when we had the tourney to deal with.”

“Ah, my two favourite love birds are getting together permanently. It’s not too late to change your mind. There are always better options if you look hard enough.” He gestured to himself with a wink. Jorah rolled his eyes as Daenerys laughed at his antics.

“I’m sure Melisandre will love to hear you saying that.” She enjoyed how Bruda’s face went instantly pale.

“Yes...let’s not tell her about this, shall we? She will kill me. And I’m the one who made the mistake of teaching her how to use her powers better. A foolish move.”

Daenerys let out a contented sigh. “Despite what’s happening with Sansa, I feel like things are beginning to go really well. The kingdom is settled for the time being and will be even more hopefully when we can get married.”

There was something in her tone though that made Bruda think there was something else going on. “And yet?”

Her eyes widened in alarm, her body going slightly rigid. “You think there’s something wrong.”

“I think something’s wrong because you think something’s wrong.”

“How can you tell?”

“You’re basically confirming it to me, right now.”

Jorah gently turned her to look into her eyes. “If something is worrying you, you need to tell us. That’s the only way that we can help you.”

“When I was unconscious...I was bombarded with these images,” she admitted quietly. “Visions of the future.”

“What did you see?” Bruda asked, stepping closer to her.

She gulped, thinking back to the one that had shown the warlock turning against her. She didn't want to bring that up lest it cause that to happen. “Dark things. The dead rising around me.” 

“The Night King?”

“No. This time, they were coming out of the flames. A massive fire had swarmed the city and...out of the ashes...came the people.”

“What happened next? How did you get out of there?”

“I was transported between visions. One second, I was being consumed by the fire...the next, I was by the tree in what seemed like Winter. I saw it die and wilt in front of me. Then the throne room...people trying to get to it. I couldn’t stop them. That was when I woke up.”

Bruda was stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Interesting.”

“Is that all you can say?” she said icily. He regretted his phrasing, knowing how scared she must have been.

“We don’t know that any of this is true or going to happen,” Jorah suggested reasonably.

The warlock jabbed his finger in the knight’s direction. “Exactly. You were under the effects of some dark magic. A battle was raging inside of you. It would have been perfectly logical for you to suffer some side effects. These could just be the manifestations of the worries you naturally have. Old memories of what we went through, battling the White Walkers, taking the city. And you’re always going to be preoccupied with the thought of someone wanting to steal the throne from you because people are power hungry.”

“And what if...they were real visions?” She didn't want to ask that question but knew that she had to.

“We have faced terrible things together and come out of the other side even stronger. We’ll deal with whatever comes our way, mark my words.”


	15. Plans and Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise in King's Landing as the small council plans on how to deal with the North, as Bruda continues to be plagued by his own demons

Yet another council meeting. Even when she had confided in Jorah and Bruda that she really didn't want to go to another one. She reckoned that it was a cruel trick being played by the warlock for a reason she didn't fully understand. His brain worked in mysterious ways, that was for sure. It was most likely that he just felt it would be funny to put her through it, maybe because she hadn’t told him straight away about the plans for her marriage. She was already planning her revenge. The main idea circling in her head was somehow stealing his staff whilst he slept. She was sure that Melisandre would help, not only because she would understand the vital need to mess with him, but also since they were growing closer. They were spending at least one evening a week discussing certain topics, especially the old man that connected them. The image of his face when he realised that they’d been conniving together was the one thing that was getting her through the meeting. Varys had joked that the kings before her had hardly paid visits to these discussions, always leaving it to their councillors, so there was no pressing need for her presence if she really didn't want to be there. That had filled her with a stubborn resolve, promising to be much better than her predecessors. She was still suffering through the undeniable drollness of it all though.

The mood of her advisors was just as mixed as her own feelings. Bronn had a grin that was splitting his face from ear to ear, hopefully because of the amount of coin they’d been able to bring in because of the tourney and everything that went with that. It had come to an official end the day before, actually a couple of days after the abrupt departure of the Northern people. The other visitors and guests, including a rather confused Olenna Tyrell, had been visibly unsure as to whether they should still be celebrating but, from all accounts, any worries had quickly disappeared once the first jousting competition of the day began. The Tyrell matriarch had visited Daenerys in the evening to ask some pointed questions; the queen had been happy to explain the situation. Olenna had gone onto to speak of how Sansa had appeared to be a sweet child when they’d met. A foolish sweet child who never was able to understand the political games that were abundant. That had settled some of Daenerys’ last remaining concerns.

Davos was looking just as happy as his counterpart so she was hoping for some news from the docks, a positive update at least. The others though were unanimously grim. Tyrion had been less than happy with her, believing that they’d made a mistake in conducting such an important conversation in a private setting. Varys had been slightly more understanding although just as worried about the potential consequences this could have for the Realm and its fragile stability. In the end, the only way to deal with this collective unease was to have this meeting and put everything out in the open. They needed to plan for the worst possible scenarios they could imagine - her life had already been one of those after the other so she didn't expect that trend to change too much.

“I’d just like to say,” Bronn began as he leaned back in his chair, his hands resting behind his slicked back black hair, “we made the right decision in hosting this damned thing. Combining the amount of profit we’ve made through vendors, food markets and accommodation with the amount we’ve saved from guests bringing in their own supplies, I’d estimate that we’ve covered the price of putting it all together at least three, maybe four times.”

Daenerys arched an eyebrow at his less than precise assurances. “And how accurate are these estimates of yours?”

“...pretty precise.” He shrugged. “I’ve got a feeling for coin. I don’t need hundreds of sheets of parchment to tell me what I already know.”

“It is your job to look at those sheets of parchment, I may remind you.”

“And I will eventually look at them. Just not now. Just be safe in the knowledge that my instincts haven’t steered me wrong thus far. Why do you think I’m sitting here right now?”

“Because I put your name forward for consideration for the job,” Tyrion reminded him.

“And it was down to my instincts that I accepted such a generous proposal.”

“The docks have been equally as fruitful, I might add, your Grace,” Davos spoke up. He’d spent the morning talking to sailors and some people that were less reputable (who he saw as his own kind), the majority of them giving him positive reports. “They claim that they haven’t seen this many exports at one time for years, since King Robert’s tournament. People who visited us for the tourney have obviously taken a liking to the things we have to offer.”

“It’s good to say that my initial worries have been disproved. No wonder I assembled this team together. Yet to point me in the wrong direction.” Daenerys smiled at her small council but Bruda, who was seated off to her side, could tell that there was little heart in the facade. She was still evidently thinking over her political misstep.

“It wasn’t all lovely and rosey though,” he reminded her as he glanced in her direction over his glasses, with sheets of paper stacked in front of him. Daenerys didn't look too pleased about his comment.

“It’s true that the...diplomatic element that had been a part of our plans didn't go as we’d hoped.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“We can’t afford to lose the North,” Tyrion said urgently. “I was in King’s Landing when the young Wolf, Robb Stark, started causing trouble for the Crown and it’s exactly the opposite to what we need.”

“You’re forgetting that Daenerys is more beloved than Joffrey,” Jorah piped up defensively. “And we haven’t killed a prominent Northmen like they did.”

“Maybe not. But you roasted Brandon Stark alive, a member of the most powerful house in the region, if not the head of it. Sansa Stark could use that against you easily. Once she starts spreading stories like that, it’s only inevitable that the sheep begin to follow the shepherd.”

Bruda bristled. “He deserved it though. He caused pain and suffering of the like unseen for centuries.”

“And you have no proof of that fact! Forget if it was at all just or deserved because none of them will care about that.”

“You’re just presenting me with problems, Tyrion,” Daenerys sighed tiredly. “I made you my Hand to give me solutions to such issues.”

“We need to reach out to the people before she does. A positive message could be the difference in this scenario. A reminder of what we accomplished together.”

“Do you have any specific ideas?”

“Bronn has outlined how much we’ve profited from this tourney. We could send small tokens of gratitude to the houses that fought at Winterfell. A gesture to show them that we won’t forget them and we’ll continue to work with them.”

She looked at the Master of Coin. “Would that be feasible?”

“Depends on how much we’re talking,” Bronn responded. “But we can figure out those details later.”

“We could also vow to protect those houses,” Varys suggested. “An oath to say that we’ll come to their aid if they desperately need it.”

“That’s a risky commitment,” Bruda commented. “They could take advantage of it, try and get us involved over small local disputes.”

“But it could be fruitful. If we put in a clause that details how it only lasts as long as they are loyal to the Crown. Many houses would think twice of siding with the Starks if they were bound to lose our strength.”

“We’d need to act quickly,” Daenerys pointed out. “Before she starts to bring them together.”

“I’ll send off ravens as soon as I’m back in my office, your Grace. If it does anything, at least it will annoy and disrupt Sansa Stark’s hopes. It will give us time, a commodity that should never be looked over.”

“I also want you to listen closely to developments at Winterfell. If even a word gets breathed of her bringing houses to talk to her, I want to know straight away. I’m sure you have some of your little birds in the area and even within the castle.”

“That’s my job.” Varys smirked at his queen. She just hoped that these efforts wouldn’t be too late to make a difference and prevent something more serious from happening.

“You also have to remember that our strength is greater than theirs,” Bruda reassured her. Daenerys’ expression darkened. “I know that the last thing you want is a war. You’ve always said that you don’t want to turn the kingdom into a pile of ashes and you’ve succeeded so far. But...if it did happen, if Sansa Stark makes the stupid decision of plunging her people into conflict once again, her army and her resources is a fraction of what you hold. Your dragons would make short work of it anyway. What I’m saying...you can’t be too disheartened if our efforts don’t succeed. You could wipe out your last remaining opponent.”

“The people in the North are not my opponents!” she responded testily.

“So keep telling them that. And, if we’re lucky, they won’t be as stupid and naive as their Lady. But when have we ever been lucky?”

**********

It felt like a million thoughts were running through her head as she rode further along the road. The rhythmic swaying of her horse would usually calm her nerves and ease the pains that came with riding for so long but even that didn't seem to be working. Sansa knew that she had taken a risk. It had been a risk just to talk to Daenerys in private because it was an opportunity for heated emotions to take control of her decision making. But it had been a greater and potentially more catastrophic risk in what she’d done. She thought back to when she was a young woman, nothing more than a girl really, learning about what to do in front of your rulers and superiors and what definitely not to do. The girl she had been would have balked at what she’d said to the queen. The entire political construct was based around respecting at least one person - the one who sat on the throne. She’d done exactly the opposite and had therefore thrown that construct into chaos. It was a match waiting to be lit, a jar of wildfire waiting to explode. Baelish had assured her that, if there was no progress made, taking a hard stance would be the best option. He claimed it would force the Crown to act, to stop a war from happening. They couldn’t afford it and, most importantly, no one wanted that outcome. The fear of losing the North was a powerful tool, according to Littlefinger. They’d have to scramble onto their knees and beg for her to stay as their ally, not the other way round. He made it sound so...simple. Like everything would eventually fall into place and her aspirations would come true in a blink of an eye. As if Daenerys Targaryen would throw away all of her principles and the reputation she’d earnt over years of struggle and pain because it was the only thing she could do to keep her power. 

_ Power is always what matters in the end. A wise person once told me that and I haven’t walked away from that thinking since. _ That had been what he’d said to her one evening as they made camp, still hundreds of miles away from home (it had seemed like such a shorter journey getting to King’s Landing rather than leaving the capital. She guessed that was down to the weight she was now carrying). She’d nodded and agreed in as few words as she could manage, hoping to drive him away since all she truly wanted was to be alone. He had sensed her discomfort. She’d passed it off as just the woes of travelling; she didn't trick herself into thinking that he believed her. He would probably be so disappointed in her. Here he was, once again, helping her more than anyone else and she was repaying him by having second thoughts. She liked to think that the queen was having just as many troubles of the mind as her but knew that Daenerys Targaryen was made of more resilient stuff. But Sansa also knew that she had been through just as much so her own strength wasn’t something to be dismissed and laughed at.

The fact was that she just didn't know whether Baelish’s reasoning was correct. The queen wouldn’t be so easily manipulated, she knew that. She obviously didn't want to lose her grip over one of ‘her’ kingdoms, which Sansa disagreed with strongly. Someone trying to take her power away from her would be seen as an enemy straight away. She’d heard stories about people who had opposed her in the past, most of them ending up dead or wishing that they were. So, to be naive enough to think that she wouldn’t fight until it was over was a grave error. She wasn’t scared of going to battle, that was clear enough. She’d gone to war against the White Walkers when she didn't really have to. She had taken city after city in the east as her army grew exponentially. She hadn’t lost a battle yet, which would only make her more confident that defeating the North would be relatively simple. The main reason for that was the dragons that were always by her side. But her followers were borderline devout, willing to do anything for her. That made them dangerous. Sansa didn't think that the Northern armies were as supportive of her yet (that was going to be her main task when she returned to Winterfell and her most vital one). It wasn’t just the dragons that striked fear into her heart and the hearts of everyone that Daenerys had faced so far. Magic. The warlock, the Red Woman...what powers they had could be the equivalent of a full sized army. They said the warlock had won the Battle of Winterfell in the end. If he’d been able to defeat such a fearsome and deadly foe...what would he make of taking on the living, who were so much more vulnerable and prone to mistakes. It didn't bear thinking about. If Sansa was to defeat Daenerys, if it came to a war, she would have to take out the old man as soon as possible. How she planned to do that was another issue all on its own.

The reason for her sour mood and her hopes dwindling was the sight of her convoy being much smaller than when they’d first set off on their journey. During one of the nights when they’d stopped to rest their weary bones and the poor horses that were carrying them, Jon Snow had led his wildlings further one without her knowing. She’d woken up to the news that they’d continued on, their more savage nature providing them with the ability to carry on for longer (he would hate her for calling them savages but she wasn’t in the mood to be pleasing him). She had no idea how far ahead he would be now but she reckoned it would be quite a large distance. It signalled the anger he was feeling towards her, the confrontation they’d had back in King’s Landing coming to mind. She had known that he would disapprove of what she’d done. He had always been so  _ noble  _ and  _ loyal _ to those in charge when she needed him to be those things towards their family. They were the last of the Starks, even if he believed he wasn’t truly a part of that House. She couldn’t understand why he was so unwilling to side with her, his own blood, over the foreign girl and her group of strange people. Actually, she knew the cause of that. She’d outlined it to Daenerys at Winterfell before they’d left; she manipulated men to do her bidding and Jon was yet another victim. It was another factor to deal with when the time came. She couldn’t win a war without the support of Jon and the people he controlled. They wanted to be a part of the North that was in front of the Wall; if that was their wish, it would be easy for them to accomplish it. All they had to do was swear loyalty to her and she would allow it. What more could they ask for. Even Daenerys hadn’t officially said that they could have land within the kingdom. She needed to show herself as being progressive and accepting - if Jon saw that she cared for his people, if he was going to claim that that was what they were, then it would only be a matter of time before his loyalties righted themselves. How it would dishearten Daenerys to see one of her toys grow a mind of its own for once.   
“Why do I always find you lost in your own thoughts?” It was Baelish, who had managed to catch up to her on his own horse, a fierce looking steed that she reckoned he thought looked intimidating. 

“Are women not allowed to think?” she shot back icily, hoping he’d realise she still wasn’t in the mood to talk.

“I much prefer my women to think for themselves. Trust me, I’ve spent enough time with women with nothing in their heads.” He thought back to the young girls he’d hired in his whorehouses across King’s Landing. “An intelligent woman is much more preferable. But I have never met one who thinks as much as you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Are you going to tell me what you were thinking about?”

“Do I have to tell you?”

Littlefinger smiled. A smirk more than anything. “No.”

“Maybe you should remember that the next time you decide to speak to me.”

“You shouldn’t fear doing what is right,” he said more gently, which surprised her. “You know more than anyone else that the North needs its independence. I’ve seen it on Bear Island. Such a remote place. You can go for months without thinking of the south and the king. Or I should say queen now. Is that a bad thing? Not at all. It manages to survive and thrive without interference so why should the rest of the North have to suffer through it? If your people were to hear your reasoning, I’m sure that they would listen attentively. I know that the small council will already be planning on how to turn them against you so you must focus on preventing that.”

Sansa looked at him acutely. “I have a question for you. Why are you so focused on me doing this?”

“People have to win this game we play. Sure, there are times when some will think that they’ve won. But the game is not yet over.”

“And you want to win this game.”

“Not necessarily. I want to be on the side of the person who wins.”

**********

Bruda was once again strolling along the corridors of the Red Keep, a hobby he found was perfect for collecting his thoughts when he needed to. The utter chaos of the last few days, which included his dismissal, his return, and the departure of the North after some heated words, meant that it was more vital than usual for him to do it. His old age also meant it was an important pastime, otherwise, he risked forgetting everything. And then he would be of no use to Daenerys and he’d find himself alone. Not for the first time in his life. Whenever such sober thoughts entered his head, which was happening more regularly recently, his mind always drifted to the memories that had been plaguing him. Ever since that night when his dreams had returned to that fateful moment, his sleep had come sporadically at best. He either managed to fall asleep, only for those thoughts to quickly resurface, or he decided not to risk it and stay up late into the night, telling Melisandre that he simply had work to do. It was likely that she didn't believe him but she knew that he usually had his reasons. 

He had considered talking about it to someone. Melisandre would have been the obvious choice to have that conversation with but he doubted that she would spend a lot of time talking about a woman he had loved in the past. Even he understood that that was a risky choice when in a new relationship. He was fully aware that Daenerys would be more than happy to listen to him since she’d gone on about wanting no more secrets between them. Even Jorah had come to him in the past when he’d had difficult decisions to make regarding their queen. So why was he finding it so hard to do the same when he was in that position? Because it wasn’t a real issue. This wasn’t going to affect them in any way so what was the point of troubling them with it? Everyone had bad dreams from time to time; his life had been so long and so full of difficult moments that it was perfectly natural for them to haunt him. It was possible that this was his body’s way of reacting to the situation they were in now; it had seemed too good to be true, with Daenerys winning the throne, so his mind was reminding him that he had to be grateful for the luck he’d received.

He shook his head as if that would get rid of the problems. He was making poor excuses that even he was struggling to believe. He had to be honest with himself - he was being a coward. Once he started speaking about it, once he turned his fears into words, once he admitted that he still felt a burning regret for his actions of years gone by...he’d make it all real and he would have to face his mistakes, the ones he’d thought he’d managed to move on from. He didn't know whether he was up to that. But what if that was the only way for the memories to disappear, or at least settle back into his subconscious rather than the forefront of his mind? Would his aching guilt diminish if he allowed himself to say that he was still scared that something similar would happen again? He’d gone for years, decades, without having people close to him. It had been the easiest way to cope with the loss, protecting himself from it happening again, despite Isabella’s instructions to do exactly the opposite. But now he had people he cared about. Life had told him repeatedly that that inevitably had to be taken away from him. That’s the only thing he deserved. Loneliness. He let out a long, guttural sigh. Why couldn’t he shake this demon from his back?

As he walked along the corridor, he headed towards the archway at the end of it, leading into yet another walkway. He glanced momentarily through the high, tall window, seeing the dirty roofs of the Keep. In the corner of his eye though, he caught the sight of a figure walking quickly past the archway he was about to go through. He was sure that it was a woman but they’d been going so fast that he may have been mistaken. Why would anyone be in such a rush around him? Why would anyone be so deep in the castle in the first place? The only room of note down there was Marywn’s office and, if someone wanted to see him, they usually asked the warlock first. He decided to follow, his staff banging on the stone floor. Whoever it was, they’d know that they were being followed but that’s what he wanted. He wanted to find out who it was. He turned his head around the corner and saw...no one. He was confused again. The corridor was long so, for them to have gone through it completely already was nigh on impossible. He carried on walking forwards, reaching another spot where the maze split. He gazed down the adjacent corridor and spotted her again, just a glimpse before she disappeared around another corner. He was sure this time that it was definitely a woman. 

He picked up his pace, which was a difficult thing to do at his age. They were heading deeper into the castle. The only reason for someone to be walking so fast was if they were wanting to escape but he was sure that there was no way out in this part of the Red Keep. Every corner he reached, he would see her turning around the next one. No matter how fast he went, she would always be the same distance away. Just close enough to reassure him that she was still there, just far enough way for him to be unable to make out any of her features. From what he could tell, she wasn’t wearing the usual clothes of someone from the capital or the simple dresses that the handmaids and workers wore. An outsider. He needed to catch up to her. He tried firing off a spark of purple energy at one point, seeing it hurtle towards her, illuminating the dark area they now found themselves in. She didn't even flinch. She just kept moving so he did the same. Soon, he felt that he was closing in on her, his breath heavy and ragged. He was picturing the moment he would be able to get his hands on her as he turned around another corner when...he found himself in front of a closed door. Marwyn’s office. He looked around, back down the way he had just come. The only place for her to have gone was in there. Curious, he barged through the door, startling the two occupants inside. Marwyn, who had just picked up a small glass bottle from one of his shelves, jumped in fright, the fragile object slipping from his hand and crashing down upon the floor. Melisandre looked at Bruda with wide eyes, wondering why he had entered in such a manic way.

The grandmaester looked at the floor in dismay, seeing the contents seep into the stone. “Now would you look at that, Warlock Bruda?” came his moan. “Have you heard of knocking?”

Bruda, even more confused than before, dismissively waved his hand, making the spillage disappear. The bottle, full again, found itself back in its original position on the shelf. Marwyn had a small smile on his face at the sight but the warlock was already focusing on what he saw as the more important thing going on. He stared at Melisandre curiously. “Were you just...running down the corridors to get here?” He was still panting, which made talking more difficult. 

She looked at him as if he were mad. “What are you talking about? I’ve been here for over an hour. You knew that. I told you where I would be if you needed me.” She looked over at Marwyn, who nodded his head in confirmation.

“Right,” Bruda muttered, shaking his head. He was sure that there had been a woman. He couldn’t have made that up. The only place for her to go was in here but no one else was present. He strolled around the room, looking through the shelves and into any possible hiding places. Was he that tired that he’d imagined it? Was his mind playing more tricks on him. Maybe it would be beneficial for him to take some of the sleeping draughts or Milk of the Poppy that Marwyn had on hand.

“What’s going on?” Melisandre asked in concern, stepping closer to him and putting a comforting hand on his arm. Her eyebrows were knitted together, her dark eyes trying to make sense of the confused look in his own.

“I...just thought that I saw something. Must have been a shadow...the flames of the torches dancing across the wall. Don’t...worry.”

“I think you’ve been working too hard,” Marwyn chuckled. “You should ask the queen for some time off. I’m sure she’d give it to you after all you’ve done.”

“I’m fine,” Bruda dismissed straight away, an edge to his voice that took them by surprise. “Truly. I’m fine. Just a bit tired.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot,” the woman by his side said worriedly in a soft voice. She knew that he didn't enjoy admitting his own weaknesses so she had to be gentle about the way she approached this. 

He smiled gently at her. “I’ll get some good rest tonight, I promise you.”

A small knock sounded from the door. Marwyn shook his head. “Another visitor? What have I done to warrant such popularity?” They were all surprised to see Ustrina waiting outside the room, nervously looking at the unexpected people inside. Bruda hadn’t seen her too much since she’d started staying in the castle. He had almost presumed that she’d left.

“Oh,” she murmured. “I didn't know that you’d have guests, Grandmaester.”

“Come in, come in. Don’t mind them. This is practically their second chamber, the amount of time they spend in here. To what do I owe the pleasure? I don’t think we’ve properly met.”

“Well, I just heard about you and...I’ve always been interested in alchemy and the more...obscure parts of life. I was going to ask if I could sometimes come by and...watch. I wouldn’t want to be a nuisance.”

“I’d be fine with that. Melisandre here does the same from time to time.” He gestured to the red haired woman, who smiled politely.

“Oh, I’ve heard a lot about you,” Ustrina gushed with a bright smile. “Bruda wouldn’t stop going on about you.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Melisandre replied, although her tone was slightly ice. She still didn't know what to make of this mysterious woman. Bruda was frowning at the new visitor, unable to shake off the feeling that something was going on that he didn't know about yet. Who had been that woman? Was it just a coincidence that Ustrina had turned up moments later? Why was he being so distrusting of her? She had done nothing but help him so far so she didn't deserve to be subjected to such thoughts.

“Are you okay?” she asked him when she spotted him looking at her.

“Things on my mind.” He turned to Melisandre. “I’ll see you later for our evening meal.” Before she could respond, he was moving back out of the room, heading up the steps. He turned back, nodded his head in the direction of Marwyn, before hurriedly leaving. With her back to the other two, they couldn’t see the small smirk that was dancing on Ustrina’s red lips.


	16. Visitors and Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa begins to form a counsel whilst Jon gets surprised

The unmistakable sound of metal clashing against more metal rang out through the cold morning air. The burgeoning sunlight glinted off the silver of the blade as it arched through the sky, its descent only stopped by another sword coming up to meet it. A bead of sweat slivered down Gendry’s head as he focused on training his latest recruits. As Master at Arms, it was his duty to make sure the City Watch was in good enough shape just in case a battle were to happen. He’d caught wind of some of the worries about the North across the city, the locals finding it the latest topic to whisper and gossip about fearfully. So he’d increased the length of these training sessions, much to the chagrin of most of his recruits. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about the prospect either since it was so much work but the queen had been gracious enough to give him such an important job and he wasn’t about to go and throw that responsibility away. It was what he had wanted, something more exciting and worthwhile. It was one thing to make and forge great and magnificent swords but to see them in action was another thing entirely.

That was the case when the weapons were being used properly. The City Watch had a reputation of not containing the greatest of fighters, especially compared to the Queensguard. He’d quickly discovered that those comments hadn’t been exaggerated, which just gave him more work to do. They were moving onto using real swords for the first time, which was why everyone was clad in hulking thick suits of dirty material. It reduced the amount of movement one could have but everyone would be thankful for its presence if an awkward blow went wrong. He was trying to teach his current target, a young boy from Flea Bottom, how it was vital to keep moving when in a battle.  _ A moving target is a target that’s more difficult to hit _ , he kept repeating. But the lad, all nerves and spots, was constantly too worried about the heavy sword in his hand that any thought of dancing around had left his head immediately. Seeing such an evident lack of improvement, Gendry turned his sword around and butted him in the stomach with the blunt end. He went tumbling down onto the stone of the small courtyard they were in, the sword falling away from his grasp. Some of the others who were watching the combat chuckled quietly but they were soon silenced by the dark glare Gendry sent them. That only worked on the younger prospects; the older fighters, who saw themselves as strong and fearless, didn't like being taught by a man of less experience. He’d enjoyed showing them why he had been given the role.

“This isn’t a laughing matter!” he barked. “If you fail to learn to move about when fighting, you’ll be useless in a battle. You have to defend this city. To do that, you have to survive more than two minutes.” He kicked the sword back to his fallen opponent. “And you need to try and keep hold of your sword, even when you fall. You don’t want to make it easy for the enemy, do you?”

The young man shook his head, gripping the longsword tightly. One of the others decided to speak out. “And do we have any enemies right now, my Lord?”

Gendry was having to get used to the new title. Word had spread quickly across the city (and, he presumed, across the kingdom) that he’d been named Lord of Storm’s End and head of the House of Baratheon. Despite what Stannis had done, and the misfortune Renly had suffered, it was still a respected name, mainly because Robert had been king not too long ago. He was having to suffer the unwanted attention because of it. Davos liked to laugh about it when they ate meals together. “A person can decide to become an enemy at any moment.” It was a diplomatic answer, since he didn't want to incite anger towards the North when they hadn’t explicitly done anything wrong yet. “We may not be at war for the time being, thank the gods, but I’d rather we be well prepared for when we get plunged into one, rather than us being caught on our heels.” That seemed to settle any of their doubts about how vital it was for their practice to continue. “Cod, let’s see if you’ve managed to improve since yesterday.”

Cod, although fairly young, was a giant of a man with thick arms. His family worked in the fish markets and the docks, the pungent aroma that came with accounting for his nickname. Gendry had to say that he was the best of the bunch from what he’d seen but that wasn’t saying too much. The issue he had was that he was predictable. Gendry knew that the first strike would be the strongest so he put all of his might into defending the attack instead of thinking about how to counter. Cod’s large form made him an imposing opponent but a large one. Less powerful but broader strokes were effective to stop him from attacking straight away, which meant Gendry could conserve energy. He then tried a more incisive attack, that was only just batted away by Cod, whose expression was giving away how frustrated he was becoming. That impatience had proven to be his downfall across the days before so Gendry knew that he just had to wait. Block. Block. Attack. Block again. He repeated the same moves, safe and cautious. Not enough to truly trouble Cod but enough to annoy him. Eventually, as the sting of a small cut on his shoulder coursed through his body, the trainee lunged forward with a large amount of force. Having been waiting for this moment, Gendry moved to the side quickly, his sword clashing with Cod’s. With too much momentum going into a smaller target, the fish seller couldn’t keep his balance and landed face first into the dirt.

A distant sound of clapping and a gleeful cheer came from the edge of the courtyard. Gendry looked up to see Shireen waving with a smile on her face, Davos Seaworth by her side. Wondering why they were visiting, he thought it time to give everyone else something to do.

“Right...uhh...I want you all to partner and practice simply dodging blows, rather than defending against them. It’s the easiest way to survive.” He began to walk over to the two onlookers with his arms folded, a curious look on his face. “I should start charging if you’re wanting a show.”

Davos pretended to look offended. “After all I’ve done for you, saving your life and getting you this position, you’d still make me pay to watch you make fools of young boys and drunk men?”

“I would if you carry on lording all of that over me.” He peered down at the young girl. “What brings you here then? It’s early and cold, no place for a young princess to be.”

Shireen didn't like being talked down to in such a fashion, and she knew that Gendry knew that too. “Ser Davos kept telling me that he’d take me to see you. I’ve wanted to know what you’ve been doing.”

“Meaning she kept pestering me until I gave in,” Davos amended. “I don’t know why she’d want to see this. The whole point of my role is to keep her away from war, not glorify it.”

“What if I wanted to be a soldier like you too though? A knight!”

“You can’t,” the two men said in unison.

“Why not? You two get to be all brave and mighty. I should be able to as well.”

“First of all,” Gendry began. “We’re not proper soldiers.”

“We’ve just been caught up in a few fights from time to time,” Davos added. “We don’t go out searching for fights because that would be foolish.”

“And you’re also…”

“You’re going to say that I can’t be a knight because I’m a girl, aren’t you?” Shireen said with a scowl. “That’s just not fair. I’ve read all of the stories and I know that I can be just as brave as any knight. Probably even more so.”

Gendry held his hands up, a smirk on his face. “I wasn’t going to say that. I was going to say that you’re far too young. Enjoy your youth. I didn't get to and I’m sad about that every day. If you don’t make the most of these years, you’ll end up being old and miserable. Like Davos.”

The Onion Knight glared daggers at the other man but didn't speak out against the insult. “He is right about some things there. You’re a young woman. You have a lot to look forward to.”

“Such as getting married.” Shireen rolled her eyes.

“That’s one thing, yes.”

“Why can’t I just be a fighter instead of a wife?”

“You could be both. Look at Queen Daenerys. She’s a strong woman, the head of her family and the Realm. She does everything she has to as Queen and you’ll have to do the same as a Lady of your house. But Daenerys is also a fighter. She stayed to fight at Winterfell even though she isn’t a knight. It’s not always about what title you have but what you have in your heart. And I know you have a hunger in your heart.” 

Shireen nodded her head eagerly. “I do.”

“Then that’s settled then.” Davos looked over at Gendry, who had a distant look on his face. “What’s wrong with you now?”

“Talking about her getting married. It just reminded me of all the duties I have as a Lord now. It’s a pain.”

“Are you planning on visiting Storm’s End any time soon?”

Gendry looked back at his trainees, most of whom were on the floor. “I don’t have the time. I’ll eventually turn these men into something that resembles a group of soldiers, then I’ll move onto the next batch.”

“You should go at some point. They could always do with a few day’s rest. I’m sure Daenerys wouldn’t mind too much. Then you can focus on the more important task.”

“Which is?” Gendry was scared to hear the answer.

“Getting married yourself,” Davos laughed, Shireen giggling with him. Gendry rolled his eyes and frantically rushed away, not wanting to hear anything about it. Davos looked down at his young ward. “We’re going to have to do something about that, aren’t we?” Shireen’s smile only grew as she nodded her head again.

**********

They’d arrived back at Winterfell with little fanfare. The Northern people weren’t a group that normally celebrated in an over the top fashion so Sansa hadn’t been expecting much on her return anyway. There were the usual warm greetings from the staff and the formal addresses from the soldiers who were walking around the courtyard. But it was the first time that she had been remotely happy since leaving King’s Landing. The journey had been long and arduous, confounded by her constant dark thoughts about the future. The lack of progress with Daenerys and the abrupt departure of Jon had made it difficult for her to see why she was doing this in the first place. It seemed like a great deal of trouble and sorrow for a goal that should have been worthwhile and righteous. Petyr Baelish had been by her side most of the time on the journey, repeatedly telling her that this was the only course of action. Young Meera had tried to do the same as well, although her words were filled with more bitterness than his, still sore over the death of Bran. Were these her best advisors now, a man that could never be truly trusted and a girl whose heart was still in pieces? The queen had a strong team, a wise counsel to guide her through every decision ahead of her. How could Sansa compete with that. All of these doubts had been eating away at her as she rode, trying to ignore the growing pains that came with being on a saddle for too long. But the sight of her people had washed away those fears for a time, reminding her of the true reason why she was doing this. They deserved to make their own choices about their own lives; that could only happen if the Crown lost its influence in the region.

She had expected to have at least some time alone once they returned and got settled once again. She had presumed the Mormont contingent would continue towards Bear Island and the Reeds would decide it was time for them to leave too. But, as she’d arrived for supper one evening, Littlefinger had been standing there with a smile on his face, his eyes lit up in two identical fires. He claimed that he couldn’t possibly leave her now, at a time that was so distressing for everyone involved. He told her that Lady Mormont was willing to stay at Winterfell with the threat of war still not out of the equation. It was all becoming far too real for Sansa. Even though she had been the one to use such strong words against Daenerys, she hadn’t planned on starting any conflict for the foreseeable future. There was still time for the Queen to see sense and take the easiest and safest option, avoiding any unnecessary pain. She spent a great deal of time looking out of the window in her chambers, hoping to see a raven flying through the sky, carrying with it a promise of peace. No raven ever came apart from those of the smaller houses in the North, asking politely (they were more passively aggressive demands, more than anything) if there was any news about the situation. They all got the same response.  _ Nothing had happened. The waiting game had begun. She hoped that they would remember their loyalties when the time came. _

Baelish, who had somehow fashioned himself as her key advisor, almost a Hand, had suggested it was time for her to call a meeting, at least with those on the castle grounds. It was the last thing she had wanted to do but knew that Daenerys would have been doing the same, possibly from the minute she left that damned room or the city itself. If that was the case, she had lost valuable days against her opponent and she couldn’t afford to be fighting a battle on a weaker footing. So she invited a few people to her private quarters, Baelish, Meera and Lyanna Mormont. She looked at the small group, sighing mentally. She needed stronger characters, the sort of people who had battle experience, who had charged into war and survived to tell the tale. But those people had either died in the battle against the White Walkers, gone back home after the war, or travelled down to King’s Landing to help the new queen. That was something else that needed to change if they were going to have any chance of getting something from this.

“Have I made a mistake in the way I conducted myself?” Sansa asked them as she took a sip of bitter wine. She didn't particularly enjoy the taste but it helped to control her nerves. “Would it have been easier for us to get what we want if the queen was more favourable to us.”

“Of course it would be,” Baelish answered simply from his position in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall. “If the queen liked you and what you stood for, we wouldn’t be having this discussion. But the fact of the matter is that what you stand for is something she can never support willingly, meaning she will never think kindly about you.”

“Are your words meant to bring me comfort?” The drink was making her feel more wronged and insulted.

“They are meant to make you see sense. I’ve already told you that there is no point in worrying about what has happened in the past. You took a stand. Your people will love you the more for it, mark my words.”

“And it’s not as if she deserves to be spoken to with respect,” Meera added coldly. “After what she’s done.”

“If I can’t change the past, what can I do about the future?” Sansa looked at the three of them with fretful eyes. She wanted to believe it was only because of the wine that it felt like her world was closing in on her.

Lyanna banged her fist against the table. “You have to be stronger than this. You have my support because you are a Stark but you won’t win everyone over just because of your name. You have to make them believe you can stand against Queen Daenerys, a woman who has shown her capabilities clearly in front of our people.”

“So all I have to do is fly about on a dragon and kill the undead.”

“If only we had a dragon,” Baelish retorted with too much mirth for Sansa’s liking. “Thankfully, there are other means to winning people’s affection.”

“If you’re talking about gold, then I’ll remind you that we’re not in the strongest financial position after the war and the destruction the White Walkers caused.” When she put it so plainly, it made her question once again whether this was the smartest move. Could she fight a war with a small amount of money? It was very unlikely.

“The promise of gold is sometimes worth just as much as gold itself.”

Sansa wished that he would stop talking in riddles all of the time. “You’d put me in debt before I have any money.”

“You’d have all the gold in the kingdom after victory. Tell your people that and they’d be foolish to possibly miss out.”

“It’s not that simple. It’s not always about money in people’s pockets. Loyalty. That’s what I need. And my issue is that, even if I were to gain the support of every Northern house there is, it wouldn’t be enough to take on the army Daenerys has. So many families were decimated and destroyed in the war. The ones that still stand won’t want to risk putting everything they have left on the line.”

“Which are the strongest Houses left?” Littlefinger asked, moving closer to where the others were sitting.

“The Forresters, led by Rodrik. House Glover, led by Robett. Then Mazin, Tallhart and Manderly. The Hornwoods fought at King’s Landing for Daenerys.”

“A reasonable number, once you add them to the Mormonts and Reeds,” Baelish pointed out.

“It’s not enough, even if they put every single one of their men in armour. It wouldn’t be enough.”

Meera’s eyes lit up. “There’s one ally that you’re forgetting. You need to look further North.”

“The wildlings,” Sansa reasoned. She didn't want to be thinking about them at the moment.

“Led by your brother.” Littlefinger had another smirk on his lips. “Yes. That could turn the tide.”

“Jon Snow will not fight against the queen, I’m telling you that now. There is no chance of the Free Folk joining our side.”

“Then change his mind,” Lyanna instructed. “Family is important. The most important thing most of the time. He won’t abandon that if you plead with him.”

“He won’t change his loyalties. He loves the queen. I can’t change that.”

“You need to try,” Baelish pressed on. “Your hopes hinge on his support. Forget about his love for you compared to his adorations of the queen. Think about the importance his people hold in his heart. He’d do anything to improve the lives of the Free Folk. So tell him you’ll give them a better life. Land in front of the Wall, the freedom of the North. He can’t turn that down.”

“You said that Daenerys would be trying to turn everyone against me. What if she’s already making similar promises?”

“Then you have to make your promises look more lucrative. The protection of House Stark against any ill feelings towards them once they moved into their new homes. It would go a long way.”

“I won’t think about them until I can get a sense of what the other houses think. Then there’s a chance some houses further south may rally to our cause if we’re lucky. If the outlook looks positive, then I’ll consider turning to my brother. He won’t do anything if my hopes look like wild dreams.”

“What would you want us to do then?” Meera asked.

“Send ravens to every house. Every family that has pledged allegiance to my name. Remind them of those oaths and what they mean, what will happen if they break them.” 

Meera and Lyanna stood up, bowed their heads, and moved out of the room, on their way to do just as instructed. Baelish lurked behind, looking at Sansa. “What do you want me to do?”

“You want me to find a way to convince my brother. Ask Maester Capaldi to look out into our records, our family history. It won’t hurt to remind him of what it means to be a member of House Stark.”

**********

Jon Snow was very happy to be back beyond the Wall despite the freezing cold the region was known for. It meant that he was far away from the political games he hated so much, something he’d been plunged into as soon as he set foot in Winterfell. The main reason why he was annoyed with Sansa was because of the fact she was using him as a tool; she knew that he was liked by Daenerys and the people who followed her. If she got him on her side, it would be easier to get the others too. It’s why he preferred the life of the Free Folk - no member of his people saw him as a piece in their puzzle, only the man that he truly was. Sansa liked to go on about how she wanted him to remember that they were siblings, united by blood, a bond stronger than any other. So why was it so difficult for her to see him just as her brother? He didn't want to be thinking about this. As expected, it had taken them a few weeks to get back from King’s Landing so his tired mind didn't need this added stress. However, what he wanted and wished for were usually completely different to what he ended up getting. He’d received a message earlier about a rather tired looking raven arriving soon after they’d returned to the camps. He’d sighed and said it could wait a while, knowing that the games of the South (was he really referring to the Seven Kingdoms as the South now?) weren’t vital, especially when his stomach had been yearning for some food. 

He couldn’t put it off any longer though. He marched through the camp, past small tents and roaring fires, his brown leather boots quickly turning white as he waded through the snow. That was one thing he was still yet to get used to, most of the wildlings laughing at him whenever he got weighed down. He headed over to the main tent, the largest of the lot. He hoped that there would be a fire going inside as he rubbed his gloved fingers together to get some sort of feeling back in them. He spotted the Hound sat on a bench on his own, the first time he’d seen Sandor Clegane since they’d come back. He gave the other man a small smile and a nod of his head; Clegane simply grimaced and continued to whittle the stick he had in his hand. Jon wondered if their relationship would ever resemble something along the lines of a friendship before reminding himself that it was probably the last thing the Hound wanted. That would only spur him on to make more progress.

“He really doesn’t like you, does he?” a voice sounded behind him, taking by surprise. He quickly turned around and came face to face with Oslen, the wildling woman who had caught his eye just before they’d left. Taken aback by her sudden presence, he had to take a few steps backwards, inadvertently tripping over a poorly placed log and landing in the snow with a heavy thud. He tried to ignore the loud bark of laughter that came from Clegane. Oslen, doing her best not to laugh at his predicament too, offered her hand and, after a brief pause of hesitation, he gratefully accepted her help. Once he was standing up again, he brushed the snow and mud off of him as best he could and then gave her a tentative smile. It was the usual thing with him, being nervous around women for some reason.

“Sorry...you...uh...you startled me a bit there,” he admitted, looking down at the floor.

“I noticed that when you fell over.” Her eyes were shimmering with glee and mirth, pools of rich honey that he wanted to drown in. “Do you always make such a spectacle of yourself?” Although her accent was definitely Northern it was much softer than he’d come to expect of the Free Folk.

“I try not to but it’s just something that tends to happen to me.” He needed to stop staring at her, at the red curls that framed her face perfectly, accentuating her pale fair skin. “Were you...following me?”

“If you mean I was walking through the camp, happened to notice you doing the same and decided to see where you were headed...then yes.” She smiled at him, so much more confident than he was.

“Why did you want to do that?”

“Because I was curious.”

“About where I was going?”

“About you,” she said with a roll of her eyes, as if he was meant to simply know what she was thinking. “You’re not like any other man here. The first time we met, you gave me some of your food. Now, I know men don’t usually like to share their meals once they’ve started stuffing it in their faces unless they want something. Do you want something?”

How could he politely tell her that the main reason he’d done it was because he was attracted to her and the quickest way to see if she wanted what he  _ really  _ wanted was to be nice to her? “I...wanted to be polite. It wouldn’t be fair to make you come inside after delivering a message and not give you something back.”

“Interesting,” she murmured. Jon wondered if she bought his quickly thought up lie. “So you’re going to the main tent? Important business, I presume.”

“I hope not. I’m too tired to do a lot of difficult thinking. I need a rest more than anything.”

“My tent’s always open if you need to...take a break.”

Jon’s cheeks coloured despite the cold understanding what she was actually talking about. Even he could realise it was an innuendo. “And where...would I find the Hornflower camp?”

“How do you know I’m a Hornflower?”

“Tormund told me.”

“So you were talking about me after I left? I must have left an impression on you.” She laughed as she saw his embarrassed look. “I wonder if you’ll be talking about me in there again. You’ll have to tell me the next time we meet.”

“We’re going to meet again?” he asked hopefully, praying that it wouldn’t be too long before that happened.

Another short burst of musical laughter. “I’ll see you around, Jon Snow.” And she was walking away before he could respond, his brain trying to work out how she knew his name when it was obviously because he had quite a reputation around here. 

Lost in his mind about his brief encounter with Oslen, he somehow made his way to the tent, walking through the flap with a dazed smile on his face. Tormund, who was waiting for him by the fire in the middle of the large canvas room, instantly knew that something was strange about him. He was never this happy. 

“Why have you got that stupid fucking grin on your face?” he barked, which seemed to break Jon from his thoughts as he shook his head to wake himself up. “There’s only one reason why a man has that expression. A woman. I’d be proud if it hadn’t taken you so long.”

“I haven’t come here to talk about my...private life,” he responded defensively. He didn't want to ruin what had happened by discussing it; he wanted to keep it as their private moment for as long as possible. Tormund just grunted, which pleased Jon. The wildling man shoved his arm forward, handing over a neatly folded piece of parchment.

“The raven that carried this very nearly died since it had to travel so fucking far.”

“King’s Landing.” Jon could tell from the seal. It was the same as the last letter they’d received. “What does Daenerys want with us now?”

“Why don’t you open it and find out?”

Jon did exactly that, ripping it open and reading the scrawled words imprinted on the paper. He had to sit down at one point to settle himself. “It’s from Varys, the Master of Whispers. Reminding us of how grateful the queen is for our involvement in the war and how much she regrets how the tourney ended.”

“And that’s bad because…”

“Because there’s a clear message here. They’re already wanting me to make a choice. Wanting me to decide which side I’m on. Stay loyal to the queen or support my sister.”

“What are you going to do then?”

“Why can’t I just ignore them? Whatever is going on between the two of them, it doesn’t have to concern me and our people up here.”

“Can you sit by and watch them dive into war?”

“It won’t come to that. It won’t. I won’t let it.”

“That sounds awfully like you’re planning on getting involved,” Tormund pointed out. Jon didn't know what he was planning. This didn't need to descend into conflict but he knew the two women were stubborn. What could he possibly do to stop them? He didn't want to lose either of them but, if he remained neutral, he risked losing them both. He tossed the letter into the fire and walked away.


	17. Spectres and Phantoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruda finally opens up to someone before making a startling discovery

Bruda sat at his desk, scribbling notes down into a hefty tome, the rows of numbers slowly blurring into a nonsensical pattern. Bronn had given him the latest profit margins for the city and, although they were exceedingly positive, it was still difficult to concentrate on them. No wonder the Master of Coin had passed the work onto the warlock; it made for an incredibly dull task and one that Bruda wished he didn't have to do. The other issue with it being so mundane, apart from making him want to throw the book out of the closest window, was that it allowed his mind to wander, the exact opposite of what he wanted to happen. The incident with the vanishing woman almost a week ago had left him in a frayed state. The little sleep he’d been able to get after the troubling dreams disappeared, leaving him dishevelled and unable to focus during council meetings. It was becoming such an issue now that it wasn’t just affecting him. Melisandre was constantly asking him what was wrong, fretting over what state he was in and why he couldn’t tell her what the problem was. How could he possibly put it into words? Bruda, even if he saw it as a fault, was a proud man more than anything. He enjoyed being respected, even revered...sometimes feared. Not just because of his powers but also because of the strength of his wit. If the story got out that he was plagued with nightmares and seeing ghosts...he would be branded senile, the poor victim of time who had just gotten too old to be useful. He wasn’t ready for that to happen. He was scared of that happening.

He dipped his quill into the inkpot on the desk, beginning another row of meaningless numbers that no one would end up looking at. Daenerys didn't need to know the minute specifics of the Crown’s finances - all she had to be told was whether the situation was good or bad, nothing else. But it gave him something to do at least. His major task, the new throne, had reached its completion a while ago, leaving him with a lot of spare time. The throne room’s repairs and construction was nearing its conclusion too, so much so that it wasn’t necessary for him to supervise the workers all the time, again leaving him with the opportunity to twiddle his thumbs. He knew that Daenerys valued his presence but he was beginning to wonder whether she really needed him around. She had Tyrion as her Hand, Varys controlled the people, the finances were in order, ships kept coming into the bay, and she would always have a sword by her side in Jorah. Bruda had been vital in the war effort, that couldn’t be denied, but was he a person who was in any way useful during a time of peace? 

He liked to visit the dragons from time to time, to see how they were coping in this strange new environment they were in. On occasion, he’d venture down with Daenerys by his side. He enjoyed how her eyes lit up when she spoke about her children, the one topic that really made them sparkle. He understood how she wished to see them more than she did but the duties of ruling came at a price. When she was unable to go with him. Bruda would walk down to the Dragon pit on his own, promising her to make sure they were okay. He’d then often speak to people who were also brave enough to get remotely close to them, regaling them with stories of their past. He didn't know whether the locals were more nervous around the great towering beasts or him. There’d be times when the four dragons weren’t actually there, instead flying somewhere in the near distance. So he’d occupy his time by wandering even further towards the Dothraki settlement outside of King’s Landing, where he had a good reputation as their khaleesi’s trusted advisor. If he was lucky, he’d be treated to some form of meal (he’d figured out how to time his trips perfectly to increase the chances of that happening). He’d initially been reticent about it, thinking that their cuisine was a touch on the  _ raw _ side for his liking but it turned out that they were incorporating cooking techniques seen in the capital on an increasing basis. Daenerys had been overjoyed by this development when he’d relayed the news. He was just happy to be filling his time before the next big job came along but, despite the activities he was partaking in, the spectre of his woes was always looming over him.

A gentle knock at the door disturbed him from his thoughts before they could become too dark and menacing. He took his time getting up, blotting the quill on a spare piece of parchment to make sure no ink got on the desk and taking off his glasses. Ustrina, wearing a more simple outfit of a beige top and dark red pants, finished off with a loose fitting belt, smiled at him once he eventually answered. He was still curious about her so was thankful that she had shown up. He wanted to know what she actually did around the Red Keep; after all, she was only meant to be a guest. She kept to herself mostly, which didn't settle the strange concerns he had about her. Bruda’s worries had only increased when Varys had informed him that he could find hardly any information about her. As far as he knew, the Spider rarely failed in finding  _ something _ . Was she as much a ghost and a phantom as the woman he was sure he’d seen. 

“What brings you here?” he wondered, not hiding the obvious frown on his face. The woman in front of him either didn't notice it and his sour mood or was simply not going to be put off by it.

“Melisandre said that you’d want some company. I was going to spend some time with Marwyn but he was busy with her. They wouldn’t go into detail about it for some reason. But she said that you’d be wondering where she is and be complaining about being alone…” Ustrina was perfectly happy to display the smirk on her face.

“You know I’ve been alone before.” Bruda was confused. He was fully aware of the fact that Melisandre was much more distrusting of Ustrina than he was so why was she now perfectly alright with letting her spend time with him alone?

“That doesn’t mean you enjoy it,” she replied simply. “Or that you have to be alone now. From what I can see, you have enough people here to ensure you never have to be alone again.”

“And why do you care?” he spit out with a surprising amount of venom, which shocked them both.

Ustrina took a nervous step backwards. “Have I done something wrong? Something to upset you?” She suddenly seemed a much smaller person, both in stature and personality. Her usual confidence was gone at the sign of Bruda’s anger.

He let out a sigh, annoyed with himself, not her. He was taking all of his frustrations out on her and that just wasn’t fair on either of them. It wouldn’t help him deal with them and she would be subjected to unwarranted abuse. He moved aside to let her into his room but she hesitated, now seemingly afraid of him. He sometimes forgot that he could cut an imposing figure when he wanted to. “I’m sorry. You haven’t done anything wrong at all. In fact, you’ve done more to help me than you realise. And how do I repay you? By snapping at you needlessly.” He looked at her with his old eyes, seeing her scrutinise his face closely. She always had such an inquisitive demeanour. After a moment of silence, she nodded her head and walked past him, choosing to sit in one of the chairs. Happy that she hadn’t gone away, Bruda followed her and placed himself on the end of his bed, his arms propping up his chin as they rested on his legs.

“If I haven’t done something wrong, who has to put you in such a dire mood?”

“No one.”

She quirked a single eyebrow. “Then what has?”

Bruda laughed quietly. “You’re far too intuitive.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment coming from you.”

“You hardly know me.”

“And yet I feel like I do. Stop changing the subject. Something has been messing with your head. You’re normally much more pleasant than this.”

“Who told you that? I’ll have you know that I’m actually quite…” He noticed her dangerous glare and knew that she could tell what he was doing. Could he put it off any longer? Was Ustrina the perfect person to talk to since he wasn’t close to her? Would Melisandre be annoyed that he had confided in the other woman rather than her? Bruda bit his lip. “I’ve been seeing things.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know exactly. It started with some bad dreams. Old memories coming back that I thought I’d dealt with. Then a figure appeared in the Keep. I couldn’t catch up with it.”

“So this place is haunted, is that what you’re saying?” Her eyes danced mischievously as she leaned forward.

“You don’t seem particularly surprised.”

“Why should I? Where I come from, there are many tales of ghosts and the undead. They’re practically a part of me. And you have dealt with the undead firsthand before.”

“How do you know that?”

“People talk. It isn’t a secret about what happened at the place they call Winterfell, even if some are sceptical of whether it actually happened.”

“But you believe the tales.”

“Why shouldn’t I? If so many people say that it happened...why would they all lie? What I don’t understand is why this is vexing you so much this time.”

“It’s different. The war affected thousands. This seems to be only targeting me.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He sat a little straighter. “What do you mean?”

“If this is happening to you and you’re remaining silent about the subject...isn’t it possible that others are doing the same. Feeling the same as you, an unexplainable sense of shame of being paranoid about seemingly... _ nothing. _ ”

“Have...you been seeing these things too?”

“Not that I know of,” Ustrina replied, much to Bruda’s disappointment. “But I’m new here. Maybe it only focuses on certain people. It would help if you spoke to people about it.”

“They’d all think I was mad. That I was losing the last remnants of my sanity. Growing old.”

“You are growing old. We all are. But that doesn’t mean you have lost any of your strength. You’ve seen that even the dead can be powerful so why should you be any less than them?”

“Ustrina…”

She leant even further forward. “Yes?” Her voice was nothing more than an enticing whisper.

“Why are you here?”

“You invited me. Remember?”

“Why are you still here?”

“I’ve got a vested interest in you now. I need to see that you succeed. But forget about that. Don’t focus on me. You have bigger things to worry about by the sound of things.” Bruda didn't notice that he was subconsciously nodding his head.

**********

It was a rare occurrence for Daenerys to be left on her own. From the time of her marriage to Khal Drogo all of those years ago, she had always been surrounded by people. Military tacticians, advisors, soldiers, handmaids. Hardly ever a moment’s peace. Yet, since she became Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, it had become even worse, with an issue always popping up, needing to be solved just before another problem rears its ugly head. It was tiring despite how fulfilling it was, being the one who so many people relied on, which meant she had to take advantage of the few times when she had some privacy. She wouldn’t have objected to Jorah being with her but, even then, she had to admit that it was nice to be left alone with only her thoughts as company. She’d had Missandei and a few other maids to draw her a hot bath (those most recent to her service still winced slightly when she entered the boiling water with nothing more than a flinch) before sending them away as she sank into the embrace of the water. The sunlight that was pouring into the room, since the curtains were open (it wasn’t if anyone could see her from such a high point in the Red Keep), reflected against the droplets dripping down her skin, making her body shimmer. It always made her feel so powerful when it happened, as if a natural force of magic was pooling around her.

From what Bruda had told her, that wasn’t a far fetched possibility. She had known that dragons were imbued with a powerful source of magic but, for some reason, it had never crossed her mind that she could contain some too. She wasn’t about to duel the warlock but it was comforting to have the knowledge that there was another layer of protection for her. She watched the water slide off her hand as she slowly moved her fingers before she closed her eyes and somehow sunk deeper into the bath, covering her long blonde hair in water. 

She smirked as her thoughts turned to Jorah, picturing how he likely wouldn’t have been able to control himself if he could see the state she was in right now. He was always remarking how enticing her body was and she was nowhere near tired of him saying that. Despite that, for many years he had seen her in similar situations and had somehow kept his emotions and hunger hidden from her. The final remnants of his composure had finally disappeared once they’d admitted the truth and their love to one another, which she was frankly very happy about. She enjoyed having a small ounce of power over him, like she did with Bruda, always being the one to challenge him when no one else would. But hadn’t that been what Sansa had said, that she manipulated people to do her bidding and they didn't even notice. Had she really done that to those closest to her? They would argue that it was a preposterous notion and how their devotion to her was because of her strength, her love, her compassion and every other good quality she contained. How could she tell them that she feared that they didn't outweigh the bad characteristics she believed she had?

Jorah wouldn’t be in the mood to discuss it in the first place. Not only would he dismiss the idea straight away (she was sure that Bruda would at least have a conversation about it to see and evaluate what her concerns were), he had become strangely distant since Sansa and her Northern followers had left the capital. She understood why he was angry, even if she didn't feel it was necessary or useful to their cause. He was annoyed with his family for siding with the Starks, despite it being the natural thing for them to do. He had betrayed them a long time ago but Daenerys knew that he still clung onto the small hope that they had an ounce of good feeling towards him. Their latest decision made it clear and obvious what they felt about him though. He was also furious with himself, he’d admitted, since he’d failed to bring the Mormonts to her side before the war against the White Walkers. If he had been able to accomplish that successfully then they wouldn’t be having this problem now; Sansa Stark would have lost one of her main supporters and the chances of her winning would have become miniscule. Daenerys had pondered, one late night when they’d been in bed together, whether Davos felt the same level of guilt, since he’d travelled to Bear Island with Jorah as well. She hadn’t waited for his answer, telling him that it was very unlikely. Mainly because there was no need to worry and fret about a tiny failure when they had triumphed in so many ways. She had passionately reiterated how he had been vitally important to her on more occasions than she could count, which made any lack of success irrelevant. That had gone a long way in improving his demeanour and they had stayed up for a considerable bit longer after that, much to both their delight. 

She submerged her head under the water to get rid of the final bits of dirt on her face, little that there was. With her ears clogged up, she was unsure as to what she heard when she resurfaced. Her eyes opened quickly at the sound, looking around the room to see if anyone else was there. Empty. She was still alone. No would dare enter her room without permission, barring Bruda (Jorah still had a modicum of rigidity and respect towards her). What had she heard? Had it been a voice? It had sounded most like that, although the water had distorted her hearing somewhat. The doors to her balcony were open so maybe it had been from outside, the busy streets of the capital below being loud enough to reach her in her tower. No. It had sounded closer than that. As if the speaker had been right next to her and yet...still far away. She couldn’t explain it. It was possible that she had just imagined it, the paranoia one got when being alone. She settled and composed herself once again, remaining in the bath but less relaxed than before. 

Just as she was beginning to reckon it had all been a figment of her mind playing tricks on her, the silence of the room surrounding her, a voice rang through the air as if it was floating on the gentle breeze coming through the balcony. She was adamant that it was the same voice as before, a deep, gravelly tone. And she recognised the single word it spoke since she’d heard it so many times before.

_ Khaleesi. _

She didn't want to admit that she was afraid but it felt more than just someone speaking to her from nearby. It resonated in her ears and echoed around her head like it had actually been her own private thought rather than the sound of the real world. She stood up from the bath, water falling off her naked body, and she carefully stepped out. Not knowing whether anyone was watching now, she reached for the thin robe that had been left for her on a small stool, a golden piece of silk fabric. She didn't bother to dry herself off, her mind too preoccupied with this potential spirit, and the curves of her slender body imprinted themselves onto the cloth, rendering the cover-up nearly useless. It was the least of her worries as she spun around in a slow circle, looking around the room to try and spot whoever it was who was tricking. That was all this was, a trick. She was in no doubt that it was Bruda who was actually messing with her. But then the ethereal voice sounded again, louder this time, reaching out to her. 

_ Moon _ .

She wondered what it meant. Daenerys was sure that it came from the room directly connecting to her washroom so she moved over to the door. She placed a shaky hand on the door handle, not knowing what she would see once she opened it. Had someone managed to somehow break into the Keep, evading all of her soldiers and guards, with the sole purpose of killing her? An assassin hired by Sansa Stark to avoid a war? Could it be the ghost of someone she had wronged in the past? Tommen Baratheon, who had been slain on his throne? Or Stannis Baratheon, who had met the same fate in an even more painful manner. 

_ And _ .

What was it trying to say? It grew louder as she tentatively walked into the other room, which she found to be just as empty as the one she’d just been in. She contemplated calling for one of her Queensguard to have someone by her side to protect her just in case, preferably Jorah. For some reason, she was distracted by the sight of a small cushion left on the red sofa in her quarters. She must have seen it a thousand times. It was nothing special. She had chosen it firsthand. So why was she being drawn to it, her body moving instinctively towards it. As she got closer to it, she noticed that there was an object placed on it, one she had definitely not left there. Her eyebrows came together as she gazed down at it in a confused fashion. It was peculiar. A bell, one that rang and tinkled as she moved it. It was a pleasant, if fundamentally boring noise, and it was achingly familiar. Had the voice been wanting her to find this for some reason? She got her answer when it spoke one final time before she felt its presence leave the room. Who had it been? What did it want with her? And why had it finished with that word of all of the ones in known language?

_ Stars. _

**********

After his conversation with Ustrina, Bruda’s mood had improved considerably. Melisandre had thought something was wrong with him when he spun her around as she entered their room that evening. Daenerys had even brought it up one day, wondering what it was that had put her warlock in such high spirits, mainly so she could thank whoever was responsible. Tyrion had joked that it was all down to sleeping in a bed with a beautiful woman, even if there wouldn’t be a lot of sleeping involved; Bruda had promptly made his chair vanish in a flash of light and a puff of smoke, much to the amusement of everyone in the room and the chagrin of the Imp. 

What had helped Bruda, besides having the weight of his secret lifted, was that he hadn’t seen any sight of the mysterious woman. He was starting to believe that she hadn’t been there at all, being simply a manifestation of all of his worries mixed with his lack of sleep. Speaking of, sleep had returned for the most part (when he wasn’t too busy with Melisandre), which again did wonders for his demeanour. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, which was a surprise. No word had come back from Varys’ Little Birds about any preparations being made by the North, which eased their queen’s worries. Melisandre was constantly improving with the control and manipulation of her new magical powers. The one thing that was preventing her from truly becoming in tune with the energy coursing through her body was her emotions. For the majority of her life, she had repressed and killed any show of emotion, viewing it as a weakness when she was meant to be fully focused on R’hllor, the Lord of Light. Now she was able to express these feelings more regularly, she sometimes found it difficult to put them to one side. One time, when she had been unable to hit a target Bruda had put on the wall, she had commented that it would be better if she was to revert back to what she had been. The warlock had been far from pleased with the remark, claiming that the woman she was now was infinitely better than the one he had first met. His sincere declaration had been enough to calm her fears for the time being, especially when he had sealed it with a kiss.

Daenerys had called a council meeting in the morning but it didn't worry Bruda too much. She had taken to bringing them together at least once a week so that they could ascertain what changes had been made and what progress was still to come. It also allowed her to find out if Sansa was plowing ahead with her desires. A formal declaration of war had not been put forward, which they didn't expect to happen for quite a while. She needed allies more than anything else and what one needed to gain those was time and money. In regards to those two resources, the Crown was in a much stronger position, which meant these meetings were actually fairly pleasant. If Daenerys allowed it, which she usually did, it would often descend into a swapping of extravagant tales and wild stories. They justified it as a way of growing closer as a group, something that would help them work better together in the long run.

Bruda thrummed his fingers against the table as Davos rambled on about the number of ships coming into the bay. He believed that more were coming from the Eastern provinces, a by-product of Daenerys’ former presence in the area. Although that sounded as if it should be good news, she instructed the Master of Ships to keep a careful eye on those specific boats, knowing that her time in Meereen had ended abruptly and sourly. She also asked whether he could speak to some of the captains, just so they could find out what the political climate was across the Narrow Sea. Daenerys had no doubt that the slave masters would have likely taken control back of the major cities once she had left. 

“I shouldn’t have left so suddenly,” she complained, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “It was a selfish act. I put my needs above the people I vowed to protect.”

“Frankly, your Grace,” Tyrion butted in, “Meereen did nothing for your true cause. All it did was present you with problems that you didn't need to be dealing with when you were going for the Iron Throne. It delayed you more than anything, a distraction.”

“But what if that distraction turns out to be an issue now? They could decide to stop exporting their goods to us. Or even seek reparations for the  _ damage  _ I caused. I’m already having to contend with one potential war; I don’t want another coming from across the water.”

“They’d lose too much money if they stopped exporting to the Seven Kingdoms,” Davos reassured her. “It would destroy their economy in a matter of days, maybe even hours.”

Jorah nodded his head. “As for them starting a war they can’t afford, they don’t have the resources or man power to even remotely challenge us.”

“The East is the least of your worries,” Bruda said. “You may have upset a few people but you also won the favour and hearts of thousands. They won’t forget that.”

That seemed to stop her from worrying about the topic for the time being. She smiled at the warlock for his sage words. His beard twitched as he grinned back but it dropped when he looked past her towards the door. It was open, only by a small crack, but that immediately got his attention since they usually kept it firmly closed when they were having private meetings like this. If there hadn’t been anything else there, he might have brought it to the attention of everyone else, asking them if they’d left it open by accident. But the door was the least of his worries. A figure walked past as if it wanted to be seen by him in that exact moment. It was the same woman from before, the one he had thought he had managed to get rid of. He caught a look of long brown hair as she went past but that was all he could pick out. It was more detail than he’d managed to see the previous time. He stood up abruptly, making the others look at him in confusion and worry.

“What is it, Bruda?” Daenerys asked, turning her head to look in the same direction as he was. “What are you doing?”

“Um...I need to go do something,” he managed to say. He couldn’t afford this delay. He needed to catch up to this woman. All of the progress he’d made, all of the fears he’d dealt with...they wouldn’t be completely resolved until he found out who or what this was. “May I be excused?”

“The meeting hasn’t finished yet.” Her tone had a hint of annoyance in it but he could tell that she was worried about him.

“You don’t need me here right now, do you? You can manage without me just this once.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is that’s so important you have to leave right this moment?”

“When I figure it out maybe.”

Daenerys let out a sigh but waved her hand. “Go. But I want an explanation later.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” he hurriedly said as he left the room.

Bronn eyed the others at the table. “If he’s allowed to leave, does that mean we have the option?” He began to push up from his chair but Daenerys glared at him.

“Sit,” she growled, trying to regain some control over the meeting. Bronn glumly sat back down with a huff and a pout.

Bruda, staff in hand, practically raced down the corridors in pursuit of this mysterious apparition. It seemed closer this time, more tangible. Whereas before, he’d been unable to get anywhere close to it, this time, it was just out of reach, going slow enough to entice him, to make him believe that he would finally catch up to it. It didn't click for him that it was possible that it wanted to be caught this time. He pressed on as it turned around a corner. Previously, this would have been when he lost sight of it, but now he saw it enter an abandoned room, one he presumed no one had been in for many years. He panted heavily as he reached the door, composing himself as he tried to regain some of his energy. Old age was an awful thing to succumb too. Setting his face in a stern expression, he pushed open the door. It was a small room, a store cupboard of sorts with a small round window on the far side. Shelves lined both sides although their contents were covered in an assortment of dust and cobwebs. The woman was still there, her back to him. He’d finally found her. He wondered whether his hand would go through her if he tried to touch her but, when he put his hand on her shoulder, she was perfectly solid. He turned her around and his breath caught in his throat at what he saw. Who it actually was.

“Isabella?”


	18. Sorceress and Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The strange sightings that Bruda has been experiencing get explained

Bruda took a step back, his eyes wide and fearful, as he took in her appearance. His hands were shaking as the ramifications firmly hit home. He had obviously lost his mind, that was the only explanation. The only reason why he could see that beautiful face again. She wasn’t actually there, she couldn’t be. The world wasn’t so kind to him, nor was it that cruel to her. She was a ghost, a copy, a figmentation of the bad memories he held deep within himself. So how come he was able to reach out and caress her cheek as if she were actually standing in front of him? How could he smell that painfully familiar scent of hers, the one he somehow still remembered after all of these years apart. She smiled at him, her teeth white and bright. She put her hand on top of his as he stroked her face and he allowed a few tears to drop from his eyes. This was some sort of cruel trick or possibly a very vivid dream. He’d wake up any second now, relieved to have been right but left with an aching emptiness he really didn't want to experience. If he slept for a bit longer, could he keep this distorted reality alive? 

“How...are you...what is...I don’t…” Bruda’s words were incomprehensible and muddled, his brain unable to form proper sentences. He was too shocked, stunned, speechless. 

“Hush now,” she whispered. Her voice sounded the same, that recognisable soothing tone she always had to use with him. It was so similar that he could believe that it was actually her. “There’s no need to talk just yet. I know...this must be so difficult and painful for you. Confusing too, I imagine. I can barely understand it as well so you’re in good company.”

“You’re not real.” His voice was quiet, his eyes no longer able to meet her warm gaze. It hurt too much to give into the facade.

Isabella gripped his hand tighter, not to hurt him, but to comfort him some more. “You can touch me. You can feel me. You can hear me. All of those facts point to only one explanation...I’m actually here.”

“But how?” He was becoming slightly angry now because someone - he didn't know who - was messing with him and the secrets of his past. “It’s not possible. It can’t be possible.” He was trying to reason against the voices pleading with him to just accept it, his brain against his heart. It would be such a lovely world if this had actually happened.

“Do you really need to know how this happened? I know you need explanations for most things you come across but maybe this is one of those...fantastical miracles people talk about. Is it really that important to find out why I’m here.”

Bruda took a step back, pressed up against the door of the small room they were in. “It could be the most important question this world has ever known. Why are you here?”

“I don’t know,” Isabella sputtered helplessly, looking at him exasperatedly. “I haven’t done this.”

“I wasn’t asking you.”

“Then who are you asking?”

“The person who did this. Maybe they’re somehow listening in. Maybe I’m asking the world itself or the gods who control it. This isn’t an act of any ordinary mortal, that’s clear to see.” His eyes searched the room, scanning the ceiling. “Hello! Can you hear me?” he bellowed loudly. “What force sees fit to mock me? You’ll find that it’s a very small world when you mess with me.”

“Bruda, stop,” she pleaded. “You’re not acting like yourself. You’re scaring me.”

“How would you know what I’m like? Even if you are actually Isabella, the woman I loved, then you haven’t known me for centuries. A person will always change over such a long expanse of time, in more ways than one.”

“Loved? As in...past tense?”

Her mumbled words made him pause. He had said  _ loved _ not  _ love _ . Had it been an accident, a slip of the tongue or...was it his true emotions taking control? Had he somehow moved on from her, his adoration now focused on Melisandre instead? Had he truly changed that much?

“Stop it,” he said firmly.

“Stop what?”

“Sounding like her! Looking like her! Being like her!” It was too much to handle; he was beginning to feel light headed, as if the walls of the store room were slowly closing in on him. 

“You’re asking the impossible of me because I  _ am  _ me. I am your Isabella and I always will be.”

For a moment, she thought that she had won him over when he stopped talking. He stared at her with wild eyes, reddened with tears that were stinging his skin. His mouth opened and closed as he searched for a response, any response. None would come. He turned around quickly and opened the door, bolting from the room before she could react. Wiping away the tears, he raced through the corridors without looking back, his breath heavy and ragged. He went back the way he’d come, charging past the council room. He wondered whether he should go back but realised that he was in no fit state to talk to people at the moment and he didn't think he’d be able to explain to those inside what had happened. They’d lock him away, see him as dangerous and a threat to the queen. Maybe they would be right in thinking that. 

He carried on running, not really thinking about where he was going. He sped past one of the maids, frightening her as he turned the corner. She dare not shout at him or ask him why he was in such a rush; the warlock had a reputation. It was well known that you should leave him well alone if he was doing anything peculiar, less you wanted to become wrapped up in it. Eventually, he made it back to his chambers, arriving there out of instinct. The one place he could feel safe in this castle. His hands were still shaking as he turned the knob, hoping that Melisandre wouldn’t be inside. She would be worried about him and ask why he was in such distress - talking about it would only make it real. For now, he could believe it was only a dark fantasy. Thankfully, the room was empty when he stepped inside and he let out a relieved sigh. He closed his eyes as he leant his head back against the door, trying to compose himself and his breathing. The silence was soothing and much needed.

“I don’t think you’ve ever run from me.”

His eyes snapped open and, before him, Isabella was there once again, somehow in the room that had no other entry other than the door he was blocking. She looked hurt at his actions, wounded that her love would be frightened of her.

“Is this my life now? To be tortured by your presence, the ghost of my long dead wife?”

“I’m not dead,” she reiterated. “I’m alive and standing in front of you. We’ve been given a second chance. How wonderful is that?”

“You died in my arms! I watched as the life drained out of you, leaving your eyes emotionless and glassy. The worst day of my life. You told me to move on and I did partly, after many, many years.”

“You don’t have to move on now. We can spend our lives together again. I thought you’d be happy.”

“Don’t you dare,” he said angrily. “Don’t you dare and try and guilt me into believing you actually exist. I’d be happy if you were real but, as I’ve said repeatedly...you...are...not.”

“Is there a way I can prove to you that I’m real?” She stepped forward, closer to him with a coy smile on her face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this but I think I can remember the basics.” She caught his face in her hands and captured his lips with her own. The kiss, tender yet passionate, didn't last very long as Bruda managed to pull away. Isabella still smiled at him despite his hesitance, believing that it had done the trick.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not? I’m your wife. Did you not like it?”

“It’s not that. It’s making me want to believe you’ve somehow come back from the dead, which is going against my better judgement.”

“That was sort of the point of kissing you. That, and because I’ve missed it.” Her smile brightened when he smirked, a signal of his growing acceptance of the situation. “You got old.” Her tone was sad as she looked at him, thinking about the years they’d missed when they should have been together, thinking about the time that had passed for him. She wondered how long he had been alone for.

“You didn't.” Bruda looked her up and down. It was remarkable how much she looked like she had done on the day she’d died.  _ Died _ . He had to remind himself that that had definitely happened. He was being lulled into the dream because it was so sweet. “I need to know how and why this has happened.”

“You don’t. Just accept it. I’m here, the past is in the past and we can forget about it.”

“I can’t forget the majority of my life! Those years, losing you...they shaped me and who I am. I can’t  _ forget _ that.” He looked at her closely, moving away from the door and walking around her in a tight circle, his staff banging gently against the floor. “Why are you so adamant that I do?” She wouldn’t meet his confused gaze. “You know who did this.”

“She didn't want me to tell you. She said that I could see you and talk to you if her role was left unsaid.”

“She? Isabella, you need to tell me who did this. Whoever is behind this is someone of immense power and I’d rather find out who that is.”

“Oh, you do flatter me,” a familiar voice sounded behind him, one he hadn’t been expecting. A wave of regret flooded him as he realised that he’d made a fatal mistake in who he had chosen to trust. 

He’d been too fixated on Isabella, which was perfectly understandable seeing as his wife had seemingly been reanimated, to notice that the door to his private quarters had opened. Ustrina stood in the doorway with a devilish smirk on her face. She was once again wearing the purple cloak he’d seen her in the first time they’d met, her black shirt hiding underneath. She seemed different, more powerful, something greater than just a young woman innocently visiting King’s Landing. Had he really missed this for so long? He could practically feel her aura once she stepped into the room, fighting against his own. He’d been careless and let her into what was meant to be the most secure place in the kingdom. 

“I’m sorry I told him,” Isabella said frantically. “He was asking too many questions. It was the only way to convince him. I shouldn’t have…”

Ustrina’s voice was soothing and quiet as she spoke, a purr. “Shush. There’s no need to worry. He was bound to figure it out eventually. This way, the fun can start much earlier than I thought.”

“Figure out what?” Bruda asked, on edge and gripping his staff tightly. 

“Don’t you know by now?”

“I have a sickening sense of what it could be. I’m sincerely hoping that I’m wrong and this is some sort of trick I can move on from and forget.”

“Oh, Bruda. For someone who embodies everything that is mystical in this world, you are truly ignorant of the possibilities we’re presented with.” Ustrina looked down at her hands just as a red glow began to build up around them. Similar to the magical energy Bruda possessed, crimson tendrils wrapped around her fingers, much more delicately than Bruda’s chaotic force. He could tell she had a strong control over the force, which signalled many years of practice. He stiffened at the sight, resigned to what was obvious. 

“You’re a sorceress.”

“That sounds so...dark. I’m just like you. Why can’t I be deemed a warlock too?”

“What do you want? Why did you come here? I’m guessing that it isn’t just to see the queen, like you told me.”

“I want to make people happy. I’ve told you that so many times and now you can see how I can do that.” Ustrina glanced at the other woman in the room with a smile.

“Bringing people back from the dead won’t make anyone happy. It’s sick and disturbed. No matter what powers you possess, you can’t interfere with the natural order of things.”

Ustrina laughed lightly, mockingly. “Coming from you, I’ve never heard such a hypocritical comment. How is this different to what you did to save yourself? You died and came back. Your dear wife has done the same.”

“It  _ was  _ different. First of all, I put plans in place to allow it to happen. Secondly, I have the power to come back, she doesn’t. That meant I could return properly, not as some ethereal impersonation. You need to stop this.”

“But aren’t you happy?”

That stopped him, his face scrunched up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Aren’t you happy to see her after so long?” she asked again.

“That’s not the point.”

“That is exactly the point,” Ustrina said imploringly. “How much suffering is seen across the kingdom and beyond just because of death? Imagine a world where no one would have to go through losing a loved one, a friend. Wouldn’t that be better? How better would your life have been if Isabella hadn’t died that day?”

Bruda hated how it sounded so perfect and idyllic, even if he knew it couldn’t happen. “Death is a part of life. You can’t change that. No one should wield that power.”

“We have been given the power to do precisely that!” she countered. “We could accomplish so much, do truly great things. A Realm without pain, without fear, without sorrow.” 

“You keep saying  _ we _ . I’m not going to be a part of this.”

“Bruda, you’ve been a part of this for longer than you could possibly imagine. How do you think I found you in one of the many inns this city has to offer? It should have been obvious from the moment I told you that my room conveniently had two beds. That wasn’t just luck. You kept saying that it was like I  _ knew  _ you. What if I told you that I do?”

“I’d think you were lying and I’d tell you to steer clear of this dangerous path you’re going down.”

“The voices inside your head,” she said simply.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You claimed that some voice in your head told you to go to Daenerys and help her, to make sure she won the Throne. To ensure she won the battle against the dead. I was that voice. Manipulating your every move so that I could get you to this point, to get the perfect queen as ruler.”

Bruda had to grip the wall as the repercussions came crashing down on him. He would have fallen if it weren’t for his staff. This was too much. He couldn’t believe this nonsense. But the sincere expression on her face...from what he’d seen recently, it made sense. “What do you want with Daenerys? If you’re telling me the truth, and you’re the one who brought us together...why do you need her? I won’t allow you to harm a hair on her head, mark my words. You may hold some form of power but you’ll be no match for me.”

“Oh, look at how protective the old man gets. I don’t want to hurt her. I idolise her. From such a young age, all she wanted to do was help people who couldn’t help themselves. I’m the same, saving people from fates they don’t deserve. So how come you look at me with so much...disdain and anger?”

“Do you honestly believe the words you say? Bringing people from the grave doesn’t do any good for anyone. You’re not like Daenerys, you more closely resemble the Night King.”

“I don’t want to create an army.”

“Then tell me what you want!” he shouted, tired of the cryptic way she was talking, so many riddles. Why couldn’t people just make their intentions clear from time to time?

“I want power. No, I need power. Power and the opportunity to save people, to do what I did for Isabella on a grander scale. The only way that I can do that is if I rule in her place.”

“There’s no way that she will give up her throne. She sacrificed far too much to get it.”

“Do you remember what I told you in passing? Think back.” Ustrina waved her hand and the red energy formed a small cloud in the air. His face and hers appeared in the smoke, from when they had been brought in front of the queen in the great hall, when they’d been spotted at the tourney. 

__ The image of Ustrina spoke but he already knew what she was going to say.  _ “My family have had this for generations. The story goes that it must be given to a ruler who was perfect. That has to be you.”  _ The cloud dispersed and Bruda noticed that the other warlock had only been looking at him.

“She is the perfect ruler for what I need because she has an inherent weakness. You. She would do anything for you, anything you say. She would give up her throne if your life was on the line.”

“I’d tell her to let me die before doing that.”

“Are you so sure that she would do that? How did she react the last time you died?”

Bruda looked at the floor, knowing she had a point. “So that chest...the gift...it was empty.”

“But it wasn’t. It contained an essence of my power, a component of what brought back Isabella. It made you remember her, the most painful memories coming back. So much feeling and pain...you practically brought her back to life yourself.”

“I trusted you.”

“Why? Maybe because, deep down, you could tell that I was just like you.”

“Don’t insult me.” Bruda brandished his staff, the tip starting to light up in a blue fire. “We’re not alike. Because I’m not going to let you do this.” His magical energy poured at, firing in her direction. She hardly moved, instead waving her hand. A red wall appeared, shielding her against his attack. With an annoyed roll of her eyes, she pushed back with a grunt and the force knocked him over onto the floor, his staff rolling away. She looked down at it before picking it up. She stood over his body, the red energy around her lighting up her face. 

“In some ways, maybe you’re right. We’re not completely alike. You’re an old man, Bruda. You can’t fight me. The only thing you can do is...join me. Look at you, lying there on the floor, so very feeble. Is that you’ve become? I expected more. You’re weak. I’m giving you the opportunity to be great once again.”

“Just get on with it and kill me.”

Ustrina’s eyes flashed in anger and she sneered. Gripping the staff, she pushed it in Isabella’s direction, stopping just under her chin. “You’ll do as I say or you’ll never get to see your wife again.”

“You wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t sacrifice what you’ve accomplished.” Despite knowing how she had come back, Bruda had to accept that Isabella was real and now he couldn’t face losing her again after being reunited. 

“I had the power to bring her back. I have the power to reverse that whenever I want. So you’re going to listen to me.”

He stood up slowly with his hands out in surrender. “...what do you want me to do?”

“For the time being, nothing. Act as though nothing has happened or changed. Daenerys...no one...needs to know about this. Isabella is just the first example of the happiness I can bring but the next moves are already in play.”

**********

For the far North beyond the wall, it actually passed as a warm and pleasant day, with the sun out early and there being no sight of clouds for as far as Jon could see. His mood matched the weather, a smile on his face when he’d woken up. Tormund had snarled at him, asking why he was so ‘bloody positive’. Jon didn't have an answer for him because he simply didn't know. He presumed that it had something to do with ignoring the numerous letters that kept arriving, either from King’s Landing or Winterfell. The two central women in his life were vying for his attention and unwavering support; he had chosen to give such things to neither of them and it allowed him to sleep better at night. He was cut off from those problems, which proved to be no inconsequential when compared to other things. Hadn’t they learnt during the war that there were more important things to worry about other than power? Living with the Free Folk, Jon could see firsthand how life could be stripped back to its bare minimum. You just had to focus on surviving, eating, and sometimes cleaning. He preferred it to the mess that was presumably going on on the other side of the Wall. Maybe, once they figured out why he was avoiding sending correspondence back to them, Daenerys and Sansa would come to realise that they needed to value a few things over than having everything. As far as he could tell, everything would be solved if Daenerys was happy with having six kingdoms under her name, instead of seven, and if Sansa was happy with having some support in her realm, compared to not having complete control. The wildlings had shown him how dangerous greed could be, even if it still affected them in different ways - he’d had to split up numerous fights since he’d become their leader because people wouldn’t share food equally.

His chipper mood (he couldn’t remember the last time he had been so irrationally happy - maybe he had been before he’d left for the wall the first time) may have also been down to the sight of Oslen as she sat with her legs tucked under her by the river closest to their colossal camp, if you could call it such - it was more an amalgamation of hundreds of smaller camps situated close to one another. Jon was walking through the small patch of tall trees that hid the flowing water from view, intending to wash himself in the freezing cold water. He’d grown used to the uncomfortable temperature but not so much as he’d fully submerge himself in it. Tormund had delighted in telling him a story of a man he’d seen swim naked in a river, the cold making his ‘tiny poor todger’ to fall off almost instantly. Jon hadn’t been able to get that image out of his head for some time. As he came to the river bank, an area that was somehow quiet and peaceful with the noise from the camps shrouded by the forest, he spotted her washing a pile of clothes, unaware of his presence. 

He kept telling himself to play it cool. He didn't need to make a big deal of him arriving. She may not have wanted to be disturbed. He should just get on with what he wanted to do and not make it weird. All she had done was speak to him, nothing else. It was called being friendly - there was no way that she would be  _ attracted _ to him. He quietly glanced over at her but she was still focused on her task so he resolved himself to keep the silence intact. He crouched by the water, seeing a distorted reflection of his face. He looked dirty. He wondered how Eddard Stark would react to seeing him now. He’d probably be proud of how he’d made something of himself, become a part of something. Catelyn Stark would have been disgusted at his appearance if he’d been at Winterfell but she had been disgusted by him all of his life. He cupped his hands and brought a pool of water to his face, wincing loudly when it touched his skin. It was even colder than he’d expected. He’d been suitably loud enough to get Oslen’s attention, who looked at him curiously but with a sly smirk. 

“Is the Southern boy not used to the cold yet?” she shouted over, abandoning the pile of clothes as she stood up. “I could heat some up for you. Draw you a bath.”

Jon sputtered, water droplets rolling down his face and getting caught in his wild beard. “I am! It’s just...I thought I...saw something.”

Oslen crooked a distrusting eyebrow. “Is that so? Well then, if you love the cold, why don’t you get in? I promise not to look when you’re stripped down.”

He could feel a warmth spread over his cheeks at the thought of her seeing him naked. “I don’t think I will.”

She laughed. “Has Tormund told you that story about the frozen penis? Trust me, that story changes every time he tells it. I wouldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t believe anything he says really.”

“Well, that’s comforting to know.”

“Still not going to get in?” She frowned when he shook his head. “Shame. I would have liked to see you dance around as soon as your big toe went in. You’re smarter than you look.”

“I’ll...take that as a compliment,” he remarked, fully aware that she was getting closer to him. 

She was soon in front of him, her hands on her hips. “Do you want to see something?”

A multitude of scenarios entered his head at her words and he had to work hard to control himself. What could she possibly mean by that? He was hoping that it was what he was thinking. He concentrated on keeping his eyes firmly focused on her own mischievous gaze. “Depends on what you have to show me.”

“I stumbled across it really. I couldn’t believe that it was so close to where we set up the camp.”

So it wasn’t what he’d been thinking about. He managed to hide his disappointment. “How far away is this...mysterious and wondrous sight?”

Oslen took his hand in hers and began to lead him away, not waiting for him to agree to come with her. “Not very far. Come on, live a little. If you want to be like us, you have to do some exploring from time to time.”

He wasn’t too sure about this. It was possible that she was leading him to an even more secluded area so that she could kill him. For what reason, he didn't know but his brain wasn’t working too logically. They carefully stepped across a path of large stones in the river, allowing them to reach the other side. She had laughed when he’d almost fallen in, recovering his balance just in time and attempting to play it off. She’d practically dragged him through another patch of forest, denser than the one he’d previously gone through. He kept asking where she was actually taking him but she would either dismiss his concerns with a laugh or ignore them completely, continuing to walk on in silence. Jon was fully aware that this untamed patch of land could easily hold a whole host of animals that they wouldn’t want to come across. He’d had his fair share of wildcats in the past and he wasn’t in a hurry to reconnect with them.

The trees eventually broke and thinned, revealing a scene of grassy loping hills stretching out ahead of them. That was when she let go of him, suitably sure that he wouldn’t be able to get lost in the open expanse of land. That didn't stop him from complaining as he pointed out that her definition of ‘not very far’ was completely different to the one he knew. Yet he kept following her, which she addressed, telling him that he could leave whenever he wanted but he was choosing to stay with her. Was that because he’d come too far now not to see this sight or was he enjoying the way her hips swayed when she walked a little too much? They’d go up one hill, then down and up another. They repeated that pattern a number of times, much to Jon’s annoyance. His legs were beginning to grow tired but he wasn’t about to say that aloud since Oslen was looking to still have a lot of energy. Eventually, when he was starting to think about heading back, she paused as they reached the top of one of the hills, looking down into the valley below. Jon was perplexed. There didn't seem to be anything of extraordinary note. Like the hills they’d traversed over, it was covered in a dusting of snow with patches of green poking through. The one thing that stopped the monotony of the view was a tree, directly in the centre of the valley. And that was the thing that Oslen raced towards when she spotted it.

It was larger than he realised. Much larger. From the top of the hill, it looked like any other tree. But, as he got closer to it, he quickly saw how magnificent it truly was. It was a Direwood, its pale trunk blending in with the snow although he couldn’t spot the usual face carved into the bark. It dwarfed any other he’d seen. He reckoned that at least four men could hug it with their arms stretched out at the same time and that he could walk across the largest branches as if it was the ground itself. No wonder Oslen had been so enamoured with it. It felt...alive. Like it was more than a tree. It crackled with an unseen energy. Maybe all trees possessed this quality but he’d never noticed. He felt sorry for it, abandoned in the wilderness. He’d never seen a true grow so remote, so far away from others.

“Wow,” he breathed.

“As expressive as always,” Oslen shot back with another smirk. She did that a lot, he thought. 

“I wasn’t expecting this.”

“I hadn’t expected you to expect it. I don’t think anyone knows it’s here. No one would travel this way because of how many hills there are. There’s nothing around to forage for and even the greatest of hunters would struggle to find any animals around here.”

“How come you found it then?” he wondered curiously.

“Luck, I suppose. I was bored. It was like it...called to me. I walked and I walked...and there it was.”

“How many times have you been here?”

“Not a lot. It can get...too much.”

He looked at her in concern. “How do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you what I thought.” Why did she seem shy now?

“I’ve heard and seen a lot of things that I never would have believed growing up. I’m probably the one man who’ll listen.”

She appeared hesitant, looking back at the tree as she thought about what she should do. “There are many stories about the Children of the Forest. I’m sure you know who they were.”

Jon thought back to Bran and the legend of the Night King. “My brother told me about them.”

“Well, one tale claimed that their powers originated from one place, hidden away from most people. I think this is the spot. I believe that the Children first lived here, came into existence here, before they expanded. I probably sound like an idiot.”

“No, no,” he quickly reassured her. “It makes sense, I guess. They’d have to come from somewhere and this tree…”

“Doesn’t feel like a normal tree, does it?”

“Exactly.” He shared a look with her. “Do you think it’s...magic?”

“I wouldn’t know. I have no expertise in the topic. They said that magic died when the children and the last dragons did.”

“Yet dragons fly in our skies and I’ve seen magic in person.” Jon thought back to Bruda and the unbelievable things he’d done. 

“Maybe magic survived then. Maybe because of this tree.” They stared at the direwood for a moment, feeling its aura stretch out to touch them. It unnerved Jon slightly although Oslen continued to smile at its warmth. 

“Maybe.”


	19. Bells and Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gets given an opportunity as Tyrion and Missandei ask difficult things of one another

Melisandre had known that there was something wrong with him as soon as she had returned to their room. It turned out that he wasn’t able to hide anything from her and he didn't know how he truly felt about that. She had pestered Bruda for a while, stating that it wasn’t the first time recently that something had been ‘off’ about him. He passed it off as simply feeling under the weather as he clambered into bed that night, quickly pretending to fall asleep. He felt guilty as he lay there with her warm body pressed to his, keeping more secrets from her. But he had to protect Isabella, no matter how she had returned back to the land of the living, and he had a foreboding sense that Ustrina wasn’t a woman to make idle threats. So, for the foreseeable future, he was vowed to secrecy against his own will, unlike the silence he’d been keeping for fear of ridicule. 

The knowledge of why the dreams had started and who the phantom was didn't make it any easier to sleep. He was no longer haunted by his past; it was the present that was now eating away at him. Why had he been so easily swayed by this tempting woman? Maybe she was telling the truth in that she was inside his head and had been for many years but that was a dark conclusion to come to. It made him question every decision, every action he had made, wondering if he had ever been doing anything of his own volition. How long had she been manipulating his every move, if she had been? Was it his own fault? He’d grown to think that he was untouchable to an extent, infallible. A man who could cheat death if he really wanted too. But now someone else who could do the same had reared their head, a young woman who appeared to be able to match, and even better, his own powers. He’d taken a risk in allowing her to stay in the Keep, even if Daenerys had agreed, again proving two points he didn't want to think about. Ustrina was right in saying that the queen listened to him, which made her threats even more imposing. And he was now a liability to the ruler, as had been shown with her close call with death, everyone seemingly better off if he was far away from the capital. 

No. That wasn’t true. At the moment, he was the only one who knew of Ustrina’s plan. He couldn’t do much to stop her in fear of losing Isabella. Many would claim he was nothing more than a puppet tied in strings. But he was also the only one who had the power to challenge her, maybe make her change her mind before it was too late. He had to stall her, prevent her from doing anything rash. He may have made a promise to her but his allegiances would always lie with Daenerys primarily. When the time came, he would do all he could to protect her and hope that she understood his deep regret at what he’d done. He wasn’t looking forward to that moment.

It just so happened that the next morning brought another of his personal meetings with the woman he was betraying. It was pretty much the last thing he wanted to do but knew that cancelling it at the last minute would only raise more questions and cause more trouble than he needed. He kissed Melisandre on the lips as he slowly rose out of bed, a silent thank you for how understanding she was being. Her eyes were still closed but her mouth had curved into a small, content smile. Again, that sense of guilt rose up into her chest. How would she react when she found out he was helping his wife, the one who had died centuries ago? Not well, that was clear. He sighed as he left the room, closing his eyes for a short moment. 

Daenerys was up and ready when he arrived in her chambers, as Bruda had expected. He knew she enjoyed these moments together, possibly even more than him. She was wearing a blue dress, very similar to the one she had often worn in Meereen. It brought up pleasant memories of when he’d first met her despite how that ended with him sleeping within a cell. How far they’d come. He sometimes couldn’t comprehend how magnificent a woman she was, so strong, so resilient. How lucky he was to work for her, which made him feel even worse for not telling her straight away about the threat she was facing. He contemplated revealing it all, believing that he could do it without Ustrina finding out. But was it worth the risk? She said herself that she wasn’t intending to do anything yet so surely there was no need to worry Daenerys straight away. She couldn’t do anything to stop it regardless of when she found out. 

She smiled at him as he entered, gesturing to the chair in the corner. “It’s another pleasant morning. How are you feeling today?”

“As chipper as always, your Grace,” he lied, the first of many, he imagined. 

She arched her eyebrow at him, perching herself on the arm of the sofa. “You’re not normally so formal with me. Are you sure you’re alright? I’m not complaining, it’s just...unusual.”

“I’m fine. Truly. A bit tired, is all. It is early in the morning. You know you could hold these meetings at another time?”

She continued to stare at him. “Tired? You’ve been saying that a lot.”

“Have I?”

“Melisandre is worried about you, you know. She came to me the other night, asking to see if I’d have any more success in getting you to open up.”

His heart broke at that, realising how much hardship he was putting her through. “I’ll tell you the same as I’ve said to her - there is no need to worry.”

“You’re a silly old man. We will  _ always  _ worry about you, no matter what.” Her voice came out stronger than she’d anticipated. Daenerys gazed at him closely, trying to pick up on the small details of his expression. He was doing well to keep his eyes locked with hers. “You’re keeping something from us. I thought we’d talked about this. How…”

“How nothing good comes from me keeping secrets from you, even if I feel that it’ll protect you,” Bruda finished with a small, sad smile.

“Precisely. So...have you got something to tell me?” She was pleading with him, he could see that in her eyes. She was begging him to confide in her. But all he could see was Isabella’s face. She was screaming in agony as Ustrina stood over her body, red pulses flashing around it. He wouldn’t allow that to happen. 

He set his lips into a stern line. “No.”

Daenerys’ smile fell instantly, her expression quickly turning cold. She stood up from her perching position, walking towards the table. “Then I guess we’d best get this meeting done as fast as possible.”

“Daenerys…”

“What?” she responded sharply.

“If there was something that I was hiding, I would tell you if I could.”

“But you can’t,” she reasoned. Bruda didn't nod or shake his head. He was already saying too much. “Bruda, is someone threatening you? Are you in danger? Am  _ I _ in danger? Because, if so, then you really need to tell me.”

He hesitated. “Not at the moment.”

“But it’s a possibility.” It wasn’t a question. It didn't need to be. She could tell from the way he was acting.

“It could be.”

“I trust you,” she said sincerely. “But you don’t have to do everything on your own. Me being here right now proves that.”

“I know. But this is one thing I have to do alone. For now. There’ll come a point when I’ll change my mind.”

“I hope so.” She hid her face away from him as she looked at the papers stacked on the desk; he was pretty sure that she was wiping away a few tears. That infernal moral voice in his head was urging him to just  _ tell _ her but he resisted. Daenerys tried to hide her pain as she looked back, forcing herself to smile. “Fine then. Any word from the North yet? It’s been a while. Far too long actually.”

He was thankful that she’d changed the subject. He didn't think he could hold on for much longer. He stood up, knowing that moving around would keep him distracted. “No. Varys believes that the Northern houses we sent ravens to also received messages from Winterfell, probably carrying similar sentiments. Asking for their support, pledges of protection.”

“Shouldn’t we be worried that we haven’t got any response from them then?”

“Not yet. We think Lady Stark has got the same lack of correspondence. It seems that they’re all stalling. They’ve just been through a war. They don’t want to be dragged into the middle of another one straight away.”

“Do you think that that’s what Jon Snow is doing?”

“It’s a possibility. But, from what I know of him, he isn’t one to shy away from a battle.”

“He’s also someone who doesn’t want to disappoint people. We’ve put him in an impossible position, pitting myself against his sister.”

“To speak candidly, it’s not an impossible decision. If I was in his position, I’d undoubtedly pick you since the odds are stacked heavily in your favour.”

“Family does strange things to people. Just look at Jorah. His whole demeanour changes when his family are brought up in conversation.”

Bruda was about to respond when a glint of light caught his eye. With a confused look, he stepped over to the offending item, spotting a bell on the desk just behind Daenerys. The early morning sun was reflecting off of its metal shine. He picked it up and examined it, not noticing Daenerys’ face go pale when she realised what he’d found.

“What’s this?” he wondered as he scrutinised it.

“I...don’t really know. I just found it here the other night. It just...appeared.” She neglected to tell him about the strange voice she had heard before finding the offending item.

He looked at her with a piercing gaze. “And you kept it?”

“I recognise it. But I don’t know where from. Where would I have seen a bell?”

“Lots of places.” He spun it around his fingers, feeling something strange about it. “Tell me, have you been having any strange dreams recently?”

She frowned. “Not that I know of.”

“Will you tell me if you do?”

“Why?”

“Because I have the sense that something is happening around here and I want to be ready for when it does.”

**********

Tyrion was plowing on ahead with his day’s work as the afternoon wore on, a goblet of wine set aside from his stack of his papers (he truly needed the fruity concoction if he was to be able to properly concentrate). He was writing the same message as he had done all morning, making sure to change the name of who it was for every time. Daenerys had asked him to write letters to every major house in the Realm and every house in the North, which was no easy task when the repetition of it all became so unbearably boring. It became even more difficult since this was the second time he’d done it, being instructed to send ravens once a week until they got a response. Thankfully, most of the larger families that lived relatively close to King’s Landing had immediately written back, pledging their undying support and unwavering loyalty, lightening his workload considerably in the process. At least he didn't have to deal with the ravens. All they did was shit everywhere in the room, on every book and shelf they could find, and caw for food until they either got some or were strangled for being so annoying. He didn't know how Grandmaester Marywn coped, the man in charge of training and sending the ravens, with Varys suggesting who were the best people to send them too. The Spider had a knack of knowing who was most likely to go a deathly pale white when they saw the emblem of the Crown imprinted on the wax seal.

Something in the overall atmosphere had changed recently. As more letters returned, with more people vowing to remain on the Queen’s side if the North were foolish enough to declare a pointless war, the more Daenerys became fixated on those who hadn’t yet made such promises. Every council meeting would begin with the same question, the same hope that the families of the North had chosen the smartest course of action. When the same response came, that still no word had come back, she would close herself off. Tyrion could easily tell that she spent that time worrying about the future, which surprised him. She had shown herself to be a strong woman in the past, hardly ever showing any weakness. Something had shaken her resolve, he reasoned, but he couldn’t know what. Maybe, because she had reached her goal of winning the throne, she was now fearful that someone would take it away. 

With the queen going through her own personal turmoil, that also visibly affected Jorah Mormont. Instead of suggesting advice of what they should do if the worst was to happen, he spent most of his time in the meetings constantly glancing at his love, making sure she was okay. Tyrion understood that it was a reasonable reaction to the situation - the old Bear had always been preoccupied with keeping his khaleesi safe - but he was being proven right once again. Having someone so close to you as your advisor usually meant that they ended up getting distracted at the worst of times. Even Bruda, so normally talkative and exuberant, was more dour and grumpy that usual, giving no explanation. When people spoke, he would sigh or quickly and succinctly tell them why their idea would never work. But he never came up with his own plans (Tyrion had seen the warlock force himself into conversations that didn't concern him regularly so a sudden change in his demeanour was always going to be noticeable), as if the old man knew that whatever they did would be futile. If that was the case, the Hand of the Queen rightly deserved to know why they couldn’t solve this issue.

What Tyrion needed most was a distraction. A distraction from his work and a distraction from the sombre atmosphere that was spreading throughout the Red Keep. Luckily, as if she were an angel, Missandei appeared at the open door, holding a tray. Tyrion looked out the window in shock, seeing the sky going a fiery red. The day had gone far too quickly, which seemed to happen when he locked himself away alone in his chambers. He put down his quill and beckoned her in with a smile, shifting some paper off from a stool so that she could sit down once she had done with the tray. There was another cup of wine with a jug (he was definitely not complaining) and a hot meal that he hadn’t known how desperately he needed. She seemed hesitant to stay, which probably had something to do with the other tasks she had to do.

“Come on, sit down. Stay a while,” he urged pleasantly, wanting the company before he started talking to himself and finally giving into his madness. “Everyone else can wait for their meals. I’ll shut the door on you if I have to.” He promptly realised how that sounded, judging from her widened eyes and the nervous energy she was giving off. “That...sounded weirder than I expected. I apologise.”

“I’ve come to expect nothing less from you, Lord Tyrion,” she said, a small smile on her face. He was happy that she did sit down eventually although her body language told him she was ready to flee at a moment’s notice.

“How many times have I had to ask you to just call me Tyrion?”

“Khaleesi has asked me even more to call her by her name and yet I still refuse.”

“But I’m less important than her. And much less respectable.” He winked as he finished her sentence, making her blush. He enjoyed how easy it was.

“You don’t have to tell me that. I already have seen enough evidence to prove your statement,” she shot back, playing the game they always played when they got to be alone. She didn't know why she was finding more excuses to make that happen; she didn't especially want to know.

“And yet you sat down. What does that say about you?” He passed her the cup she’d given him, choosing to use the one he already had.

“That I sometimes make poor choices?”

“No wonder we get along so well then,” Tyrion quipped. She smiled again, her eyes drifting to the floor as she took a sip of the wine. He remembered a time when she would have protested about drinking, especially without Daenerys’ permission. How times had changed, how much progress they had made. “I see that our Queen still has you serving people other than herself.” That had only started recently, coinciding with the change in her mood.

“Only her closest advisors,” she answered, knowing that he’d enjoy the compliment. She could practically see his ego swell at her words. “With the conflict not yet resolved, she wants those she cares about to be looked after by someone she can trust.” Even if that meant she was incredibly busy and shouldn’t be wasting this time by talking to Tyrion.

“Would you say that she’s becoming more paranoid?”

“I mean...she has a right to be. Being the ruler of seven kingdoms and one threatening to go against her reign. How many more would see it as an opportunity to do the same?”

“So that’s a yes.”

“It’s understandable. Is it a bad thing for her to be concerned?”

“Not at all. Paranoia, to a certain extent, is an essential quality of any good ruler. It’s better to be aware of the problems facing you, rather than turning a blind eye because the truth is too scary.”

“Then what is your problem?” She knew that she was speaking far too openly towards him. That was down to the drink, she kept telling herself as she put the cup down, definitely not because of their growing relationship...friendship, she amended.

“If a ruler becomes too paranoid, then they make hasty decisions. They close themselves off, they try to do anything to protect themselves. You only have to look at the previous Targaryen ruler before her to know how drastically bad that can end up.” He held up a hand before Missandei could defend her queen. “I know that she is not like her father. But it is the wisest approach to make sure she doesn’t fall into the same pitfalls before she inevitably does. I want her to be safe, that’s all.”

“You want me to keep an eye on her. To ascertain how she’s feeling.”

“Exactly. How she acts, whether she’s eating, if she’s meeting people like she normally does. If anything changes, I need you to tell me.”

Missandei looked offended. “I won’t betray her like that. She confides in me. I couldn’t, in good conscience, go behind her back.

Tyrion clenched his fist and bit his lip. “It’s...not going behind her back. I don’t want you to tell me any of her secrets. But if anything troubling happens, I’m one of the few people who can help her. She chose me as her Hand for a reason.”

She was at least thinking about it now, which eased his concerns. “If anyone has changed recently, it’s Bruda.”

Tyrion sat up, his interest piqued. “What do you mean?”

“When I’ve delivered his meals on the few times I’ve been given that task, he sometimes hardly notices that I’m there. He’ll be lost in thought or muttering to himself.”

“The warlock has always been a...peculiar man. It’s in his nature to be slightly off putting at times.”

“But he always seemed happy. And he would usually have a conversation with me, if only to be polite. I hear people talk about him roamin the corridors, going into abandoned rooms. And that woman he let into the Keep...hardly anyone knows who she is. What if...”

“You can’t think that he’s plotting anything. He literally died for Daenerys. He’s the last person I’d suspect of betraying her.”

“You dismissed him from the Keep. You obviously felt that he was a threat of some sort. And then he returns with that strange woman. I’m just making you aware, like you asked me.”

“I only thought he was a threat because of how much he cared about Daenerys.”

“And what if he cared about someone just as much? His power...an entire army wouldn’t be able to stop him if he turned against us.”

“Has he given you a proper reason for believing this.”

“No,” she answered honestly. “But I care about him and I care about my khaleesi. If something is wrong with him, then someone needs to do something about it. Before something ‘drastically bad’ happens.”

**********

Sansa was adamant that people were conspiring against her. Not just those who fought for the Crown, which was an obvious turn of events since she’d practically burnt that bridge after her disastrous visit. No, what worried her was that the families who were supposed to be loyal to her, the ones that had cowered under the protection of House Stark for centuries, were trying to get away with cutting ties with her. She had no fundamental proof that this was the case, no letters of active defiance, no sign of gathering armies nearby. But, with each morning that broke and each night that settled, and no pledges of support to her cause, she became certain that silence meant betrayal. Baelish would constantly advise her to stay calm and keep her wits about her, knowing that rash decisions would likely mean a war would never happen. She was growing more annoyed with him. All he could see her as was a little girl, the one who had paraded around the Red Keep looking for attention and compliments about her beauty. The one who had been vain and stupid and so very blind to the cruelty the world had to offer. Why couldn’t he see how much she had changed? That girl would never have been able to sit where she sat and lead a Realm on her own. She had no guidance, no family members to tell her what to do. She may have had a small council but she was still utterly and entirely alone. That’s why she had wanted Jon to stand by her side. That’s why she was so heartbroken and distraught over the fact that he had chosen not to. It was her plan to make her emotions plain and simple in the next letter she wrote to him.

Lyanna Mormont tried to claim that it was perfectly natural for people to be taking their time with getting back to her. Although her family was strong and devout in their support of the Starks, she reasoned that others were more hesitant when it came to choosing a side. After all, for a small family, one wrong move could signal the end of their bloodline, removing any chance of them ever growing to the heights they desired. Sansa saw that as a contradictive mindset, wondering how someone could strive for strength and yet be frightened of how to actually get it. Lyanna had reminded her that, throughout the course of the political games over the years, no matter who was fighting who, there were always people who decided to wait until the very last second before they made their choice. That way, they had a greater chance of surviving by being on the side of the apparent winner, when all other possibilities were taken out of the equation. Baelish remarked how the Freys had been experts at that technique, focusing on the Late Walder Frey. Sansa had been angered by that, retorting with the fact that he now lay in ashes because he’d never chosen a side permanently. His nickname now had two meanings that could be used. 

Sansa didn't want that to happen to the families she was trying to win over just because they were scared of losing. During the war, she had seen Northmen believe that they were only ever going to lose against the might of the White Walkers yet they continued to fight regardless of their impending doom. Why had that mindset left them when she really needed that spirit? Littlefinger claimed that people were braver in war so that they could earn a slice of honour, a part of a future story, recounting how they stood up against the greater, more formidable foe. Sansa saw that as a rather cynical viewpoint but she understood what he was trying to say. She was the one standing up to this ‘formidable foe’ and the only guaranteed way to get people to be on her side and to be  _ brave _ was to start the war. She would have to push people, that was for sure. They would be thankful that she did in the end.

Sansa stood overlooking the courtyard, a thick black cloak wrapped around her shoulders to fight off the typical Northern cold. She watched as people pushed carts and carried boxes, as soldiers trained and fought one another, as women worried over their children, preventing them from running around too much. Most of the children looked wild and untamed, much like her sister Arya. How she could have done with that unquestionable defiance nowadays. Sometimes, she wondered what life would have been like if she had been more like her youngest sibling. She doubted it would have been much different; her spirit had always been calmer and better hidden than Arya’s had been, which was the reason why she was still living. It would be the reason why she won against Daenerys, because people underestimated her. 

She didn't notice that Petyr Baelish had approached her on the balcony. She was becoming used to the far too often occasions when he tried to get her alone but, thankfully, Maester Capaldi was also with him this time, standing just behind him. The Maester, gaunt as he usually was, had a stern expression on his face, which told her that something had happened. She hoped that it would be some good news - she was pretty sure that he was constantly scowling so she couldn’t ascertain how positive it was going to be judging from his facial expression alone. 

“I’m glad to have found you, my Lady,” Baelish said in greeting. The Maester simply nodded his head. He was one of the few around here who didn't care for formalities, which was a surprise coming from someone of the Citadel.

“It feels that you always know where I am, Lord Baelish.” She didn't think she meant it as anything close to a compliment. She was still usually nervous around him.

“It’s my job.”

“I wasn’t aware that I had given you one,” Sansa shot back.

Baelish bowed his head with a smirk. “Maybe I’m being a bit too presumptuous. I just like to see myself as your closest advisor.”

“We all like to have our fantasies.”

He scowled at that but (wisely) chose not to say anything. Instead, he turned to the older man by his side, who Sansa noticed was holding two books. She then remembered the task she had ordered him to complete, researching in their family library to find ways of convincing Jon to join her side. She was suddenly optimistic that they’d found something. Baelish took the books out of his grasp and then beckoned him away. Capaldi frowned, biting his lip at the rudeness, before bowing his head only to Sansa and grumpily walking away.

“You asked us to find anything that could have been of use to you,” Littlefinger explained. “The Maester went on and on about old family histories and books about long forgotten trade deals, so much so that I thought he’d never end. But then he told me of these two books that he hardly remembers coming across before.”

Sansa took them, seeing no sign of dust on either of them. She had hardly spent any time in the library (the gods forbid if a lady was ever a bookworm) but she knew that it was an old and musty place. “They’re new.”

“Precisely why he was confused. One shouldn’t even be here, an old diary of a Grandmaester, dead many years now. Somehow, it got here from the Citadel of Old Town. He doesn’t know how. But that wasn’t even the most confusing and intriguing discovery. The other book isn’t a published tome. Handwritten fairly recently. And it’s addressed to you.”

Sansa went pale. “Who wrote this book?” For some reason, her voice was shaking.

“Your brother. Bran Stark.”

She could have dropped it but knew that she had to remain composed. “This could have waited until we were in private quarters. People shouldn’t know about this.”

“People don’t care about books. It’s a major flaw in the public psyche. But you...you should care about what’s written inside of it.”

“Have you read it already?” She was slightly (and rightly) offended. If it was for her eyes, one of the last people she wanted to see it was Petyr Baelish.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he replied innocently. She glared at him with as much force as she could muster. “Fine. Only the first page. The introduction.”

Sansa opened to the page in question. It was only a small passage but it was definitely her brother’s handwriting.

_ I fear that my time is running out. Sister, we naturally drifted apart. You may not even see me as your brother anymore with what we’ve been through. You may not understand my powers or what I can do with them. I used to be able to see the future so clearly, I saw a better world. But something else came, a strong force that changed and obscured what I could see. A being that I couldn’t control, who took fate into their own hands. I fear that they will not understand my purpose in this realm and react in a drastic fashion. I just don’t know when this will happen, if it ever will. I have taken the precaution of writing down everything I have seen in my visions, just in case the worst was to happen to me. I leave it up to you to read them. I know Jon will not accept what I have to say but you may be able to convince him. There are secrets in here that will change the world you live in. Use them as I would: carefully. _

Sansa skimmed through the rest of the pages quickly, her eyes widening with every word she read. She walked away from Baelish, who followed her closely, trying to see the words on the pages. Eventually, she looked at him and spoke with a shaky voice.

“I need to write to Jon.”


	20. Accusations and Assurances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion confronts Bruda whilst Daenerys faces a startling discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, please comment if you're enjoying the story so far

Tyrion’s conversation with Missandei the other evening had been playing on his mind constantly. She had admitted that there was no irrefutable evidence to support her concerns about the queen’s safety but it was his job to investigate any and all threats to his employer. And Missandei was one of Daenerys’ closest friends so she would have been able to see if anything was wrong with her. It just so happened that the person under scrutiny was another of her closest advisors, which made the upcoming conversation even more difficult. Tyrion and Bruda, apart from during council meetings, very rarely talked to one another after the Hand had been the one to dismiss him from the castle. They had sometimes been at odds with one another in the past, the warlock usually suggesting more bombastic and loud courses of action, compared to Tyrion’s regularly more considered approach. But the frostiness in their relationship had reached its highest point ever since that fatal night so he would have to be careful in how he worded what he had to say. If it appeared that he was questioning Bruda’s loyalty again, without any proof, then the warlock’s powers would be the least of his concerns. 

The dwarf stood outside the door to Bruda’s room, pausing for a moment as he heard voices coming from within. He couldn’t properly make out what they were saying but he was sure that the mage was angry with whoever he was talking to. Maybe Missandei had been right about him being on edge, a far cry from the pleasant man they knew. The other person was a woman from what he could hear. For a second, he wondered whether he was having a discussion with Daenerys, making Tyrion want to leave as soon as possible. If she heard about him voicing his thoughts to someone else first before he laid them out in front of her, she would be far from happy, that was for certain. He slowly took a few steps back, only for the door to swing open abruptly. He should have known. It was the woman Bruda had brought with him, Ustrina. He could see from her face how she was shocked at his presence momentarily before she expertly hid that surprise. He scrutinised her closely, observing how her expression was a mask as she looked back at him.

“Lord Tyrion,” she breathed with a smile. He couldn’t tell if it was sincere or not. “I didn't expect you to be in this part of the Keep at such an hour.”

“Funny. I could say the same thing about you,” he shot back with a cold stare. “But, then again, I hardly know what you get up to during your time here.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t concern you when you have so much more interesting and important matters to deal with.” Was she trying to flatter him to get out of this difficult situation? That may have worked on him a few years ago but he’d learnt the hard way how words can always be vindictive and poisonous. “I do what any other guest does, I suppose. Look around, try and keep out of the way.”

“Guests usually leave.”

“Have I done something to upset you, my Lord? If I have, I can only apologise.”

“Not yet. But things can change.”

“Hopefully they do. I only wish that you would be more trusting of me,” she said, trying to act like the victim. How many men had fallen under her spell before, he wondered.

“When you’ve given me reason to, I’ll be glad to admit my...mistake,” came his calculated reply. She didn't seem to like it. “You seemed to be discussing something rather heated in there. I heard raised voices. I’d advise against making the warlock angry.”

“He is the last person I’m afraid of in this world.” Her smile had gone and she seemed like a different woman all of a sudden. Tyrion was becoming acutely aware of how he shouldn’t have been confronting an unknown entity with no one else around. But what had she meant by her words?

“If you’ll mind, I came here to speak with him.” He moved towards the door but she didn't move. It was if her eyes were glowing, transfixing his gaze. It hurt to look away.

“What about?” she wondered.

“Maybe he’ll tell you when you next have one of your...private meetings.” Finally breaking away from her stare, he shoved past Ustrina, through the open door. He didn't see how she clenched her fist behind him, trying to control her anger. Now wasn’t the time to be losing control of her powers but that didn't mean she couldn’t have some more fun. A trail of black smoke reached out from her fingers, following the Imp unnoticed, before it dissipated. She smirked as she stalked away.

Bruda was standing up in the middle of the room as Tyrion entered, holding a book at a certain page. As he saw the other man walk in, he closed the book and dismissively threw it onto the chair. He strolled around a table, not uttering a word, just pouring two short glasses of amber liquid. Tyrion’s glass moved on its own towards its new owner. The warlock’s magic, when used in small and domestic ways like this, always took him by surprise.

“I heard you talking to Ustrina,” were his first words, no show of pleasantries. “You don’t like her.”

“Why is she still here?” Tyrion asked, clearly perplexed about her presence.

Bruda shrugged. “She helped me. This is me repaying her. She needed a place to say.”

“There are a number of wonderful guesthouses in the city. The Red Keep isn’t one of them.”

Another shrug. “It’d be...rude of me to ask her to leave now. Especially when she hasn’t done anything wrong. Apart from annoying you. Frankly, that’s another positive in my eyes.”

Tyrion chose to ignore his comment. “You’ve never been one to care about whether you’re being rude or not.”

“Maybe I’ve changed,” Bruda sighed as he sat down.

“That’s what I’m worried about.” Tyrion remained standing.

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you think I’m here?” came another question, ignoring the last.

“I presumed you were going to tell me. Maybe you’re trying to get rid of me again. But that depends on Daenerys’ will since you can’t do anything without her permission.”

“Neither can you.”

His words seemed to have an effect on Bruda, who looked at the floor sadly. “I wish. But my role is completely different to yours. Don’t feel bad.”

“Bruda!” Tyrion said angrily. “This isn’t a laughing matter.”

“Then what is this? An intervention? A trial?”

“I’m here because I’m worried.”

“Has Daenerys put you up to this? Melisandre? I’m tired of people saying they’re concerned about me when I constantly tell them that I’m fine.”

“Oh please stop thinking of yourself for one moment. I’m not worried about you. Far from it. My job doesn’t concern you or catering to your needs or leaving room for whatever plans you have. I’m worried about what you could do to our queen.”

Bruda stood up. “You know full well that I’d never do anything to harm her.”

“Yes, you’ve said that. But people lie. Especially when they’re close to power. I don’t know what you intend to do but, if it puts her at risk in any way, I’ll have to stop you.”

“I admire how much you care for her, I really do. But you’re wasting your time here.”

Tyrion could have laughed. “Am I? The last time she was hurt was because of you. Because you care about her so much that you’d do anything for her. So when you go on about how much you adore her, that doesn’t fill me with any confidence. The complete opposite, in fact. You would risk everything for her but how many people have to suffer because of that?”

Their drinks had long been forgotten since the confrontation started. Bruda stared at the smaller man for a second before he closed his eyes tightly. Maybe it would be possible for him to forget all of his troubles if he could just succumb to the darkness. “Only one,” he said quietly. “Me.” He sunk back into the chair with his hand over his face, rubbing it slowly. “Say you have two impossible decisions. On one side, someone gets hurt. On the other, another person faces the same fate. And you’re in the middle, trying to keep them both from harm’s way. In the end, the one who crumbles is you.”

“Is Daenerys one of those people?”

Bruda seemed to measure his words. “If I confide in you, will that mean you won’t be so accusatory towards me?”

“That depends on what you say.”

Bruda contemplated what to do for a moment, rubbing his forehead. “Daenerys could be one of those people. At some point. Which makes me the only person with the capability to stay in the middle for as long as possible, keeping her alive until I can’t anymore. That’s my role now. Warding off any threats. She won’t like that because I suffer as a consequence.”

“There’s two people though, you said. Couldn’t you...just sacrifice the other one?”

Bruda laughed mirthlessly, knowing Tyrion didn't mean it so callously. He was just focused on his main concern. “If only I could. But I’m too old and sentimental to do that.”

“How long can you hold on for? Isn’t there someone else who can help? I need to know about this threat in more detail.”

“I can’t. By talking about the potential threat, I make it a threat. I know it doesn’t make sense but...you have to trust me. Can you do that? Just for as long as I can hold on?”

“For the Queen.”

**********

_ Moon and Stars. _

Since the last time Daenerys had heard those whispered words (it had been the first time too), they hadn’t come up again. She had wondered if they had ever been uttered. Maybe it had been a dream of some sort as she walked around, drained and tired from the trials of being the queen. She had heard stories of people doing that so surely it was a possibility. She wasn’t immune to fantastical visions, thinking back to the premonitions she had seen whilst the effects of Bruda’s magic wore off. It could even have been down to something she’d eaten for all she knew. There was always bound to be a logical explanation. But she had seen and done things that defied all logic. She had walked into the flames of a pyre and emerged with three dragons crawling on her person. She had fought against the dead as they walked again, only to be saved, not for the first time, by an all powerful warlock. She couldn’t stop thinking about how this could be another example of the world acting as a never ending mystery. She often found excuses to be alone, hoping that the privacy would encourage the voice to return. There was something so...tantalising about it. Something so achingly familiar that she was growing annoyed that she hadn’t figured out how she could possibly remember it. But it had been days, possibly weeks, since Daenerys had heard it and she was losing hope of ever hearing it again. 

“I know it’s not the most interesting of topics but it would help if you paid attention.” Jorah’s voice, full of mirth despite his accusatory words, broke her from her reverie. She shook her head to wake herself up from the pointless thoughts, pretending to pay attention to the books in front of her. Jorah studied her face with squinted blue eyes. “It’s vitally important that you try to take in what these passages say. At least, that’s what Tyrion said.”

She curled her lip up in disgust, bored with the mind numbing task. “How are books going to help me rule? I haven’t needed them in the past.”

He chuckled, enjoying the few times when she showed her true colours, when she showed she was still just a young woman. “In my past experiences, they are the most useless of tools when your opponent has a sword. But Tyrion and Varys know this world better than us. They understand how words can mean swords never have to be used.”

“Then why do I keep you around?” she joked, teasing him. It was one of the few times recently she’d been able to relax, relishing in this moment with her knight. 

“I have no idea, Khaleesi. But I’m not complaining that you do.” He smiled down at her hand as she reached across the table to rub his arm affectionately. “Tyrion believes that, with tensions growing, it’s best if you know what allegiances the Crown has and has had. Then you’ll have a working knowledge of how you should act with certain Houses and which Houses you need to focus on when it comes to collecting allies.”

She flicked through one book, seeing how many pages there were. A small cloud of dust swept up into the air and she coughed slightly, mainly in disgust. “But these contain every sworn oath the Crown has ever made. Every king, every family. Do I really need to look that far back?”

“Some loyalties go back thousands of years, especially in the North.”

“I think I’ll have aged a thousand years once I’ve gone through all of these.”

“You sound more like Bruda with every day that passes. I don’t know how I feel about that.”

Daenerys scrunched up her nose. “As long as I don’t look like him just yet. After a few hundred years, maybe.”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’re doing. Trying to distract me from doing this.”

She let out a long sigh. “It was worth a try. But...surely there’s other, more pressing things we can do. There still hasn’t been any word coming from the North. Maybe it was an idle threat.”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry. The entirety of your council told you that was their sentiment. Bruda especially seems to be on edge about it.”

“We should be planning other things though. I seem to remember you asking for my hand in marriage. I also remember me accepting your proposal. Yet we have hardly talked about it since you asked.”

Jorah held her hands tightly, the books long forgotten. “I’m just as eager for you to become my bride. But making sure you’re safe has to be seen as more important.”

“Can we discuss it at some point though? You said that Varys thought of the idea because of the positive effects it could have. Bringing more positivity to the kingdom, symbolically uniting the north and south. When you think about it, it’s the perfect time to be doing it.”

He stared into her eyes, seeing how sincere she was being. This was no trick aimed to stall him from boring her with endless facts. She truly wanted to marry him, a fact that made no sense to him. He had done nothing to deserve this wonderful woman but he planned on holding onto her for the rest of his life. “I’ll bring it up with someone soon. Bruda will be happy about the prospect, I’m sure.”

“Good. The sooner I’m married to you, the better. I haven’t loved someone so dearly.” A strange pang went through her as she said those words. It was as if it had hurt someone, as if someone was listening into their conversation. She was faintly aware of Jorah talking about something as he moved another book over to her but his voice sounded distant and distorted. She feared she was going to fall into a deep sleep again, like the one that had scared her council so dearly. But then the deep voice returned.

_ Moon and stars _ . Why was it saying that again? She turned her head quickly, believing it had come from right behind her shoulder. There was nothing there, other than her desk. She realised she wasn’t paying any attention to Jorah but she also knew she couldn’t miss this opportunity. Daenerys stood up abruptly, startling Jorah, who was immediately put on edge, worried that she could sense an attack or something going wrong.

“What is it, khaleesi?”

She needed to think of something. She needed to get him away quickly. “Oh...um...sorry. I really shouldn’t have acted so suddenly. But I...realised I needed...Missandei for something important. Would you go and find her?”

He didn't look too convinced. “If this is just another way to avoid doing the work…”

“It’s not!” she said, just a bit too frantically. “I swear. I just really need her.”

He stood up slowly. “Can’t I do what needs to be done?”

“Please?”

He rolled his eyes before moving towards the door. “I’ll find her for you. But I’ll want an explanation about what has you in such a state.”

“Thank you.” She wore a small smile on her face. She knew that Missandei would be on the other side of the Keep at this time of day, which gave her as much time as possible to figure this mystery out. As soon as Jorah left the room, sending one last curious glance her way, the voice returned. It was louder, somehow closer. Inside her head and, yet, coming from somewhere in her room. She wandered over to the table, catching a sight of the bell she’d found at the same time as when this had started, the one that had spooked Bruda. She picked it up, believing it to be relevant. She tried to follow the sound of the voice talking but it was like it was coming from all directions around her, making her the focal point. It was too much. She hurried through one of the adjoining doors, hurtling into the empty room. But it wasn’t empty. Her eyes went wide before her vision blurred as tears built up. She wanted to scream, she wanted to shout out, she wanted to cry. The person in front of her stood tall and mighty, as she remembered. Daenerys collapsed to the ground in fear and dread, wondering what power could have brought him back. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t possibly be real. She saw his arm reach out towards her. She flinched away from him but, soon, his hand was caressing her hair, the other holding her shaking hand. She could feel his touch which meant he was surely real. She stopped herself from reaching out too, still too frightened but she allowed herself to let out a small whisper.

“Drogo.”

**********

Jon stormed through the flap of the tent angrily, brandishing a worn piece of paper. With dawn just breaking, the main tent of the camp was busier than usual as wildlings took advantage of the heat it provided. Some of them looked up in surprise and confusion at his sudden entrance, wondering who would have the audacity to disturb the relative quiet of the room (or as quiet as the Free Folk could be). Others simply ignored him, deciding to stay focused on the lumps of cooked meat that were spinning on spits above the fire. Any other time, Jon may have been tempted by the intoxicating smell but he had more pressing things to think about. His morning had already been ruined by the contents of the letter, which had been the main reason why he hadn’t wanted to read any that came, be it from the south or north of the kingdom. But curiosity had gotten the better of him, his patience worn thin by the sheer number of letters that kept coming. 

Tormund sat over in the corner, minding his own business. He was the one who Jon headed for straight away, wanting to discuss the course of action he’d already decided on his own. Sandor Clegane, trying not to act interested in this new development, sat on the same bench as Giantsbane. That definitely wasn’t because they liked one another (they hadn’t uttered a word all morning apart from a few grunts). He’d been forced to sit there because it had been so packed inside. It made him contemplate returning to his life of being alone although the food he managed to find during that time didn't compare to what he got now. 

Jon hadn’t wanted to attract a crowd and, thankfully, he’d been successful. Oslen had wandered over though, always intrigued by what the young leader was up to. He almost jumped when he turned his head, seeing her right next to him. She smiled and he managed a smirk in response, momentarily forgetting about what had brought him to the tent in the first place. Shaking his head slightly, he handed the note over to Tormund. Oslen hurriedly ran over to crouch behind him, attempting to read it at the same time. They both frowned at the words. They could tell it had been rushed; it hardly made any sense to them. Oslen, who had barely been in contact with those who lived south of the wall, was perplexed at how they spoke if it was all like this. 

“What’s this then?” Tormund asked, inspecting it again before handing it back to Jon. It was too early to be making his brain work so hard.

“Another letter from Sansa,” Jon practically growled.

Oslen glanced at him curiously. “I though you weren’t reading them?”

“Well...I did! And it’s a good job that I did. You saw what she put in there, what she said. This is different to all the others, I think. She isn’t asking for my support in some war. She just wants me to go back to Winterfell.”

“Where she’ll probably ask you for your support in person, where you can’t exactly ignore her.”

“That’s true. But I reckon she knows my answer wouldn’t change. Regardless of if I’m there or not.” Why did his sister have to be so infuriating? He wanted peace but this plan of ignoring the issue wasn’t going very well so far. He should have known it wasn’t going to be that easy.

“You’re glossing over what she actually says in the letter,” Tormund pointed out. “ _ There’s something vital that I’ve discovered that concerns you. A secret that can’t be written on this paper with the risk of it being intercepted _ . She seems paranoid to say the least.”

“Can I trust her though with what she’s saying. It’s pretty convenient that she’s just found whatever this is when she’s been pestering to see me for weeks.”

“It could be a ploy to get you surrounded by her men. Keep you as a hostage until you agree to help her,” Oslen put forward.

Jon shook his head immediately. “She wouldn’t do that. She’d risk starting a war with us when she needs our power. And she’ll know that any chance of me moving to her side would be lost if she did that to me. Maybe...she is being sincere. Maybe she has found something that’s shaken her. Despite everything that’s happened recently, she is still my sister. I’d never forgive myself if something happened to her and I wasn’t there to help because...I was afraid of getting involved!” He was pacing in a small circle, his hand covering his face. He couldn’t bear to look at the small group around him for fear of what their expressions might be. Ridicule? Disdain? The one he dreaded was pity. What would they be thinking of him, this man who was meant to be a ruler but was faltering at the first sign of trouble. It would be best if he left the job for someone more fit for the role, he was sure of it. Tormund would be able to unite the wildlings better than him. He was letting down the last of his family and the people he had promised to look after.

He was surprised when he felt a small hand on his arm, a reassuring gesture. He opened his eyes to see that Oslen had returned to his side. She was looking intensely at him and, for a second, all he could think about were her gleaming eyes that seemed to be looking into his very soul. Somehow, despite the fact that, really, he didn't know this woman very well at all, he was calmed down by her warm gaze. If they had been alone, he may have kissed her. He certainly wanted to but knew that, if he did, he’d never hear the end of it from Tormund. And it was more than likely that she would protest profusely and he would be left feeling incredibly embarrassed. It was just that the look she was giving him made him believe that wouldn’t happen however.

“You’re overthinking this,” she said quietly, whispering nearly. “I can see it. Feel it. That fear in your eyes. You think that, whatever you choose, you’re bound to let down someone you care about. That probably comes from how you were brought up, always in the shadow of the rest of your family.”

“How...how do you know that?” he sputtered incredulously.

“Call it intuition,” she smirked playfully. “I’ve got a good read of you by now, Jon Snow. But that isn’t important right now. You need to see that you have accomplished so much in your life because you chose to do the right thing. If your mind is telling you that this is the right thing to do, then it is. You’ll go to Sansa, see what this information is, then come back quickly.”

“How will you lot survive without me?” he tried joking. He was aware of Clegane letting out a snort of laughter but he managed to ignore it. 

“That’s their problem.” Oslen could have laughed at his confused look. She enjoyed messing with him, even when she was attempting to be nice. “I’m coming with you.”

Jon took a step back. “No you’re not,” he quickly said. “You have no experience of what life is like past the Wall. I doubt you’ve been on a journey as long and...Sansa will only ask questions about who you are.”

“And how would you answer that?” she asked curiously, a low purr.

He started stammering, the others relishing in his discomfort. “I...don’t know! You’re my…”

“Yes? I’m  _ your _ what exactly?”

Jon let out an annoyed huff. “Oh, nothing! This is my point. You’ll just make it awkward for me. Even more so than it already is.”

“You do know how to flatter a girl, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry. You know I didn't mean it like that.” Another moan escaped from his lips. “Fine. If you really want to, you can tag along. But you have to look after your own horse.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with a mock salute. 

Jon turned to Tormund. “I’m sure you’ll be alright being in charge whilst I’m gone.”

“Of course. I hardly need your supervision to cope,” the other man responded.

“No no no!” They were all startled by the Hound’s sudden involvement in the conversation. “I’m not listening to a fucking word he says if he’s our temporary ruler.” He sneered at Tormund, who bared his teeth. They resembled animals more than people.

“Here’s a question for you: have you ever listened to an instruction I’ve given and followed it without complaint?”

“No.”

“Then nothing has to change. Perfect.” Jon tucked the letter into a pocket in his cloak and patted it for safekeeping. “I just hope this is all worth it.”


	21. Fear and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys looks to the one person who she thinks can help but even that will be too late

Daenerys scrambled away from the figure before her, her eyes wide in fear. Khal Drogo crouched in front of her, not saying a word, hardly changing his expression. He was staring at her in curiosity, tilting his head slightly as if she were nothing more than an artefact to be examined. He looked the same as the last time she had laid eyes on him, albeit stronger and less pale than when she had chosen to kill him. A moment of realisation hit her as it all began to make sense. The bell she had discovered was one of the many he’d worn in his hair after every battle he’d won. The whispered words that had resonated with her,  _ Moon and Stars _ ...a reminder of how they had referred to one another so many years ago. But...this wasn’t right. Her chest was moving up and down rapidly. What kind of sorcery was this? He had died. Right in front of her. She remembered the tears that had stung her cheeks as she forced the cushion down onto his face, the anguish and despair that had scorched her heart. Whatever trick this was, it was making a mockery of the feelings she had dealt with, the suffering she had gone through. She wanted to tear at the figure, rip it apart, remove its existence so that she could once again move on from that part of her life.

But then she looked into his eyes, the same pits of charcoal she had stared lovingly into as the stars moved overhead in the inky night. Even the smell hadn’t changed, that strange musk of testosterone and sweat that was somehow...enticing. She had seen him before in her head - she had lost count of how many times that had happened - so why was she so scared now? This was just another of those heartbreaking dreams. She would wake up any second, Jorah would be by her side, and she would hide away the pain of the experience. What would they think of her if they found out about what she was going through? How she still was tortured by figments of her past. How she should have been happy with her life and her new love but her mind wouldn’t allow her to have that. They would snatch away her crown in a heartbeat and she would be forgotten, consigned to a single page in the history books, a passing sentence that everyone looked over.

She flinched as he moved his arm closer to her again. His touch was achingly familiar, so much so that it stung her skin. She closed her eyes as she allowed herself to give into the fantasy. What harm would it do to let his image stay for a bit longer? He was closer now as she slowly grew accustomed to his unexplainable presence. She opened her eyes to find him inches away from her face. His gaze brought back a tidal wave of emotions and memories that she had believed she’d moved on from. She thought back to how they were going to rule the world together and how Drogo had vowed to sail across the poison water on large wooden horses. In her head, she saw their child and how it would have grown up across the years, imbued with her beauty and Drogo’s strength. The mightiest king, the most beloved. She wanted to believe this was a possibility almost too much. Drogo’s reappearance had woken something inside of her. This world she was creating was so...sweet. There was no pain, no indecision, no people she could let down. Why hadn’t life turned out like this? Was it still a potential future?

“Moon of my life,” Drogo whispered in his deep tone, inching closer. How long had she waited to hear him say that again? Too long. All she had to do was give in…

“My sun and stars,” she said back gently, leaning in, wanting to capture his lips once again. They were about to meet when she suddenly stopped, pulling back as the weight of her actions sunk in. Scared again at what her brain was doing to her, making her betray Jorah and everything she stood for, even if it was a dream, she stood up. “No, no. This isn’t right.” She looked at him as her heart broke, trying to admit the truth of what was happening. “You’re not real.”

Drogo joined her in standing, unsure as to what had brought about this change of mind. “I stand here. I...live.” His broken common tongue was something she hadn’t expected to have missed so much.

She stood firm. “You died. A long time ago.”

That’s when his expression turned into a sneer, cold and dark. “I...did not...die. You...killed me.” He was now resembling the imposing figure of the warrior he truly was, not the man she had grown to love.

“You were already dead!” she wailed. “Your soul was damaged. You were trapped. I had to set you free. It was the kindest thing to do. For the both of us.” She was acutely aware of how he was boxing her in. If she didn't act soon or make him stop, Daenerys feared she would be trapped and she was now less certain about this being a simple dream.

“You killed me. You killed our son. So why do you live on?” he snarled. Feeling a terror she hadn’t experienced for a long time, Daenerys took her opportunity to squeeze past him and run towards the door. She briefly glanced back before leaving the room, seeing him standing there motionless, glaring at her. It didn't seem that he was going to chase her but that didn't stop her from running.

She knew where she wanted to go, where she needed to go. There was only one person who would be able to help her right now. She raced through the corridors, travelling the short distance between their chambers. She was surprised that she didn't attract any attention with the way she was acting but it was the least of her worries. She made it to his door and didn't even wait to knock to be allowed entry, pushing through straight away to get to safety.

Bruda stood up as soon as the door swung open, ready to defend himself against the intruder. He relaxed when he saw it was Daenerys, even if he was confused as to what prompted her visit. He picked up on her distressed state, moving to her side and holding her tightly. Then she did something he really hadn’t been expecting - she began to cry. Alarmed at her erratic behaviour, he sat her down gently, crouching in front of her with as comforting a smile as he could muster, holding her head so that she had to look at him.

“Hey now,” he said softly, wiping a few of the tears off from her cheeks. “What’s got you acting like this? Are you okay? Have we got news from the North?”

“No, nothing like that,” she managed to say. She was now seeing how stupid her behaviour was, feeling awful for making him worry so much. She stared at him, still doubtful. “Are you real?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Real?”

“I need to know. Are you actually standing in front of me? I’m not...dreaming?”

“As far as I’m aware, you’re awake and so am I. Look, I’m right here. Whatever’s going on, I’m here. But I need you to tell me what exactly we’re facing.” He could feel her shaking, so different to the strong woman she normally was.

“I was hoping you would say this is all a dream. Why can’t it be a dream? I want it to be a dream so I can wake up and forget about it.”

He stopped her from rambling too much. “Daenerys. Why are you so frightened?”

“I saw something...someone...that I shouldn’t have.”

His expression darkened. “Who?” He really didn't want the answer, dreading what it might be.

“Drogo,” came her whisper. “But he’s dead! I saw it happen. He can’t be here.”

Bruda held her even tighter, placing his head on top of hers. He glared silently at the wall for a second, knowing who he needed to speak to. It was already going too far. It was fine when it was just affecting him but now Daenerys was involved...he needed to take action. Now was the perfect opportunity to tell her about what was going on. She’d be angry but at least she had experience of what they were up against. But he couldn’t. Not just yet. He needed answers first before he could tell her what they had to do. Despite that inevitably meaning he had to continue lying to her. He decided to shush her gently. “I told you to look out for any strange dreams. That’s all this is. Something inside of your head but that means you can control this. You can’t let it get the better of you. You are stronger than you realise.”

“What’s happening to me? Am I...damaged?”

His heart broke. How, of all the people, could she think that for even a second? “No. You are definitely not damaged or broken or weak. Something is happening around here but I’m getting close to figuring out how to stop it. For now, just remember that he can’t hurt you. Khal Drogo would never hurt you.”

“He wanted to,” she said in a whimper. “He wanted to kill me for what I did to him. To our son.”

Bruda pulled back slightly to look at her, vowing to make Ustrina pay for making her feel like this. “You did nothing wrong. Remember that. It may hurt but sometimes...that tells you that you made the right choice. The hardest decisions in life are the ones we must make.” What he didn't say was that he was now seeing how he needed to listen to his own advice if he was to stand against their new enemy.

**********

Tyrion was somewhat happy with how his impromptu meeting with Bruda had gone. Missandei was right - the warlock did seem to be acting differently to his normal self but, even then, had he ever been considered  _ normal _ ? Tyrion knew that everyone was on edge so it was understandable for people to be suspicious of one another. Yet he didn't want that to go any further. If they all started doubting the motives of everyone around them, they wouldn’t be able to work as a unit and they’d eventually tear themselves apart. Bruda, despite his obtuseness and lack of respect towards him, was someone who cared for the queen and they would always need people like that. He was also the reason why they were all sitting in King’s Landing in the first place. That was why it concerned Tyrion so much that he had sounded so...defeated and tired.

Tyrion couldn’t possibly claim to know or understand some of the more mysterious and whimsical elements that the world had to offer. If you’d told him a decade ago that he’d end up on the side of dragons and warlocks against an army of the dead, he would have asked if he could have a goblet of the wine you’d obviously been drinking. But he had come to accept that there were greater forces in play than he had initially realised. He had presumed Bruda was one of the more powerful of these unknown elements so...if there was someone or something that could best him in a fight, they were all in trouble. His natural instinct was to be terrified. He had survived this long because of how good he was at manipulating words and people, along with a huge slice of luck along the way. But those tools would prove to be useless against this sort of foe. Political games he could deal with (he’d go as far as saying he’d mastered the art, another reason for his unlikely survival thus far) but standing against magic? He’d be a fool to think he could offer the old warlock any help.

Yet there was something he could do for Bruda. Tyrion had wanted to immediately run to Daenerys when part of the truth had been told to him. It was plain to see that she was in danger, no matter what Bruda said to the contrary. If he told the queen, outlined the potential situation, he would be removed from her side and, hopefully, the threat would disappear with the mage. He’d done it before, albeit with poor end results, so why had he paused this time? The certainty he’d held when he’d first accused Bruda of being a risk to Daenerys was gone. He still felt that it was the case but was he now seeing it as a necessary risk? His words kept echoing around Tyrion’s head. He believed he was the only one who could stop this threat and who was Tyrion to argue against that logic? He’d defeated the Night King after all. He was being sucked in by Bruda’s tantalising logic. It was a risk to not tell Daenerys but it was a greater risk  _ to  _ tell her. So, for the time being, he would give him the benefit of the doubt and remain silent but, if he saw anything that told him the situation was worsening, he’d have to inform someone. It was his duty, regardless of how Bruda would react.

He paced around his room, still debating whether this was the right move. Maybe he could tell Varys about the dilemma. He was good at keeping secrets. It  _ was  _ his job. But he’d go on about how he needed to protect the Realm, and how that directly involved telling the queen of any threats to her safety in good time. He wouldn’t stop to consider that it was best for someone with knowledge of the danger to deal with it. The Spider was a man of few principles but he rigidly stuck to the ones he had. In normal circumstances, Tyrion would commend him for that fact (not to his face. He’d never hear the end of it if he actually complimented the eunuch) but, right now, it was nothing more than a nuisance.

Another thought soon occurred to him. What would he tell Missandei? She would undoubtedly ask about whether he’d gone to see Bruda since she was the one who brought the subject matter up. She’d want to know what he said and if that meant they could still trust him. Tyrion couldn’t possibly tell her the truth. She’d either not understand the delicacy of the matter (he doubted that since she was an intelligent young woman) or grow even more suspicious of the warlock and tell Daenerys about her concerns (he could see that happening with how close the two were). It was a miracle that she had gone to him first, rather than the queen. It meant he could quietly tuck it away without needlessly worrying their ruler. Telling the truth would only remove that advantage. But he was growing to like her, more than he cared to admit, so would he be able to lie to her when the time came? Why did everything have to be so...complicated? He longed for the days of when being Hand meant running rule over feasts and little, normal concerns, even if that had included catering for Joffrey.

“You never were a person who thought twice about lying to someone if it suited your needs,” a booming voice said behind him, almost making him spill the glass of wine he was holding. “Have you really changed that much over this time?”

Tyrion slowly turned around, knowing who that voice belonged to but not believing that they could be here. He’d made sure of that a long time ago, on one of the worst yet most satisfying nights of his life. The disdain in his tone hadn’t changed, which he wasn’t surprised about. Even death wouldn’t change the overall demeanour of Tywin Lannister. He stood there, looming over Tyrion with a sneer. The dwarf casually glanced down at his drink, figuring that, if he was seeing this, then he must have had too much. This is what stress did to a person. He chuckled mirthlessly, laughing at the absurdity of it all. His father continued to glare, obviously not liking this reaction. He looked as neat and tidy as Tyrion remembered, clad in a smart leather doublet, his hair slicked back, his beard trimmed precisely. Tyrion was slightly disappointed that his brain hadn’t imagined up two holes in his chest where the arrows had fired at him. Shame. It would have lightened the mood at least.

“And I thought this day couldn’t get any worse,” Tyrion said sardonically. “But no...I now have to put up with you being in my head. I thought I’d get rid of you.”

“It appears your conscience has a greater merit than the rest of you.”

“Conscience? I can tell you one thing for certain...I will never regret killing you,” he snarled.

“I taught you better than this. You’re acting like an animal.”

“I thought we were meant to be  _ lions _ ? Last time I checked, that’s an animal.”

“You’re a mess!” Tywin barked, moving closer. Tyrion wasn’t liking how vivid and real this phantom was. He hated his brain sometimes. “You’re acting like no son of mine. How you’ve survived to this point is beyond me.”

“I bet it hurts, doesn’t it? Rolling in your grave as you realise I’m the last survivor. Everyone else in this forsaken family is gone. Patches of dirt in the ground. I live on. I reckon it’d make your blood boil. The son you hated...despised...destroying your lineage and dynasty by the side of a Targaryen.”

“You are no Lannister.”

“Oh, come on!” Tyrion said loudly, groaning at his father. “I’ve heard it all before. Your insults don’t have any effect on me anymore. You can’t touch me. I’m free from your grasp.”

“Then why am I standing here?”

“How should I know? It’s probably some sort of fever dream. Maybe the wine has gone off. I’ll be having words with the kitchen. Or Missandei.” Tyrion walked around the edges of the room, circling the ghost. He wondered if he’d remember all of this when he woke up. “You should be proud of me. I followed in your footsteps.” He patted his chest, his hand hitting the brooch of the Hand. Tywin looked down as if he was just realising his was no longer there. “ _ Hand of the Queen _ . It has a nice ring to it. After everything you put me through, I came out on top. I took everything from you. Your honour, your power, your prestige...your life. And I’d do it all again.”

“Maybe you’ll have to.”

That made Tyrion stop for a moment, tilting his head as he stared at the other man. He didn't like the look of how Tywin’s eyes were gleaming. No dead man’s eyes should shine so bright. “Come again?”

“You seem to have convinced yourself that this is all a dream. A byproduct of the copious volume of drink you no doubt consumed. Because that was the only logical explanation.”

“It’s the only explanation.”

“It saddens me that, despite being free to grow, you’re just as naive as you always have been. Open your eyes. The world is greater than we ever realised. You claim to have taken my honour and prestige, you’ve probably spent all of the money this family had. But that doesn’t matter. I’ve come to realise that there’s greater power than what those give. The power over life and death. The time is coming for you to learn the same lesson.”

Tyrion tried to scramble towards the door but he found that it was locked. He hadn’t done that, he was sure of it. He looked back at Tywin, who was taking on a more ominous facade. His words couldn’t be true. Power over life and death...it wasn’t possible. But was this what Bruda had meant? Tyrion’s face went pale as he slumped against the door, staring up at the figure before him. 

Tywin sneered down at his son. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

**********

Bruda banged on the door with his staff, rage coursing through his body. He had spent a long time with Daenerys but had never seen her reduced to the sort of person he’d just spoken with. He wasn’t just angry with the woman he knew was directly responsible; he was disgusted by himself, realising that he was just as much to blame for the experience she’d gone through. Tyrion was right. It was no longer healthy for Daenerys to keep him around, this was the world telling him exactly that. If he could deal with Ustrina, either convince her to change her mind or remove any chance of her hurting anyone again, then it would be time for him to leave. He was resolute in that decision now. 

Ustrina opened the door far too serenely for his liking, a calm, condescending smile on her face. He barged past her, enjoying the action of shoving her to get into the room. She didn't say anything. All she did was watch as he prowled along the walls, attempting to get a control over his emotions. She was examining him. Calculating, attempting to determine what he was planning to do. He wondered if she was frightened. She’d never shown any fear. She didn't have to, with the amount of power she appeared to hold. But it was like he could feel it...deep down, she was hiding some sort of internal terror, doing well to not show it. He hoped that was the case, otherwise he could be in a great deal of trouble. Ustrina had already shown how she had the capability to match and best him in a duel.

“You’ve gone too far,” he growled, looking back at her. His magic was flowing through his veins like a flame, waiting to be unleashed. The tip of his staff flared ominously, the blue hue becoming darker. Ustrina showed no sign that she cared. In fact, she looked entirely unimpressed. 

“I can assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Even the sound of her thick accent enraged him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so close to losing control. “Is this a game to you? Is that what you see this as?” He stepped closer to her. “I’ll give you a sage warning. Do not play games with me.”

She placed a slender finger on his chest, still unnerved by his anger. “I don’t play games.” Her voice was a whisper as her eyes looked up at him. “I win them.”

He grabbed hold of her arm tightly, gripping it as hard as he could. For the first time, there was a flicker of uncertainty in her hazel eyes. “Whatever you’re doing with bringing back those who died, it was fine when I was the only one who was suffering. I could deal with it.”

She managed to push away from him, staggering slightly, her orange hair more messed up than before. “Yes, because you’ve been coping so well with it all recently,” she said sarcastically. “You know, your friends have been so worried about you. They think you’re planning to betray your queen. They whisper it like poisoned words, trying to find the one that finally kills you.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Bruda sighed. “They should be done with me. They can toss me to the streets if they so wish. Strike me down repeatedly. Just so that I could see you removed from here before you do any proper damage, so I can laugh at you with my last breath.”

She smiled, which he really didn't like in the circumstances. “Do you think they have the power to remove me? How easily have you manipulated people in the past? How easy then, would it be for me?”

“I’ve never manipulated anyone. People should be free to make their own choices, including whether their loved ones return from the grave!”

Ustrina let out a small laugh. “See, that’s the difference between me and you. I accept what I’ve done, what my powers can be used for. But you...even after all these years, you’re blind to what you’re capable of.”

“I know what I’m capable of. I’m capable of defeating you, right here, right now. I can end it all here. No one need know how close we were to destruction. All your efforts would be forgotten.”

“And if you fail, you’d leave Daenerys at my mercy. Can your conscience really handle such a heavy burden?”

“I’m doing this for her. You brought back someone she loved dearly and it tormented her. It’s cruel and no one should suffer through it, especially her.”

“That’s just the initial shock she’s going through. It’s not cruel. Far from it. How many times do I have to tell you, warlock? I’m doing this to be  _ kind _ . You said she loved him. Then surely it is a good thing that she can live her life with him again! Don’t be so blind.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Not only is it against every law in nature, you also have no control over it! Life and death can’t be manipulated by one person, those forces are simply too strong! Khal Drogo threatened to kill her out of revenge for what happened to him! Is that truly kind?” He was sure that he could see a momentary falter on her behalf.

“I can control it. You’ve seen how I can control it.”

“It will burn you up inside and destroy you,” Bruda said passionately, trying to make her see sense. “Please. I’m trying to save you before you kill yourself.”

“There you go again. Claiming to be the hero. That’s why you haven’t told anyone about me. Because you want to be the person to stop me.”

He looked down at the floor. “So be it. Maybe that’s the role I have to play. Maybe I  _ am  _ the person who’s going to stop you.” Bruda lifted his staff up from the floor, ready to wield it. For a few seconds, it felt like Ustrina was going to let him strike the blow. But, before he could fire off a spell, a figure appeared in front of him, blocking his view of the other warlock. His heart sank. Isabella smiled at him with her familiar eyes and warm expression. He didn't want it to happen but he could feel some of his anger dissipating. 

“Don’t do this, Bruda,” she said quietly, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “This isn’t you. You don’t kill people.”

He moved away from her touch. “And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” he shouted into the air. “You actually believe that because you  _ died _ before I had to kill people. People who deserved it, who were going to hurt more people. I don’t like it, I never will. But it’s the duty I have because of the powers I have. I accepted that a long time ago.” He looked over at Ustrina, who was watching the interaction curiously. “Can’t you see? People change when someone they love dies, it’s a fact of life. Which means, if you bring them back, they don’t feel the same way anymore! They’re not...compatible!”

“Look into your wife’s eyes and tell me you don’t  _ feel _ anything towards her. Tell me that the love you held for her has completely gone. If that’s the case, then you’ll be perfectly willing to kill her. To set her free from this punishment, as you see it.”

Bruda stared at Isabella, tears stinging both their eyes. She wasn’t real. That thought kept running through his head. The image of her dying in his arms in the rain. But she was standing there and she  _ looked  _ real. He’d told Daenerys that everyone had to make impossible decisions but this...this was too much. He lowered his staff, hanging his head in shame. He could hear Isabella let out a relieved breath but he knew that he’d made a mistake. 

“You lie to yourself,” Ustrina carried on, gloating. He’d lost his energy and his will. “You see me as the enemy but you can’t oppose me.” Her hands blared red, energy swirling around them. She stared at the force for a moment before it shot out, firing into the chest of Bruda. He was flung into the air, crashing against the stone wall before he slumped to the floor. He defiantly looked up at the woman towering over him. “In some ways, we are the same. How long did you keep your name a secret? It always had a hidden meaning. I thought that was a nice touch and it helped me choose my own name.” She crouched down in front of him. “But then that’s also why we’re different. Diametrically opposed. You, calling yourself  _ Winter _ . Think about my name, Bruda. You believe the forces of life and death will burn within me. You’re right. Ustrina, the old world word for  _ Fire _ .  _ Winter and Fire _ . The power we could hold. But you’re too weak and old.” She stood up again, stretching her arms out. “Yet you have told me something today, which I must thank you for. If more of the dead are coming, then the time has come for me to stop waiting. I’m looking forward to watching this place  _ burn _ .”


	22. Destruction and Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truths are unearthed as Ustrina strikes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay but, as you can see, it's a longer chapter than usual. This chapter is a good place to take a pause afterwards. Only a couple of weeks since I've got other projects on the go, then I'll be back! For now, enjoy this latest instalment.

Davos strolled through the corridors, thinking it was awfully quiet in the Keep. He’d sometimes spot a soldier or guard patrolling the area, most of whom would nod their heads courteously in his direction but not say a word. He’d expected to have run into someone by now; members of the council were always strolling about around here so where had they gone now? He hadn’t seen Bruda all day, Tyrion was seemingly holed up in his room as he had been for a considerable amount of time now, and even Daenerys hadn’t shown her face so far. He frowned as he rubbed his chin, his fingers running through his short grey beard. He could tell there was something going on. It was in the air, a bitter taste. In actual fact, there had been a foreboding sense of dread building up in his gut for several days and it was bugging him that he didn't know why. Trade was going on as usual in the ports of Blackwater Bay, even increasing across some markets. The streets were seeing less trouble going on, Gendry’s training obviously proving dividends with the latest recruits to the City Watch. The people within the city were happy, enjoying their lives to the best of their ability for the first time in a long time. They were at odds with the people living in the Keep, who appeared to be troubled by something as a collective. After seeing its effects on the behaviour of those in the latest council meetings, especially the erratic behaviour of Bruda and Daenerys’ increasingly closed off demeanour, Davos Seaworth had decided it was finally time to voice his concerns. He just didn't know who would be the best to seek out. The two he would have normally gone to, Bruda and Daenerys, were precisely the people he was worried about. 

As he continued to nervously pace, deciding to head back towards the Queen’s corner of the settlement, he turned his head as he heard the unmistakable sound of running footsteps against the stone floor. He was surprised to see that it was Jorah who was coming up behind him, moving with more urgency than he had seen in the old knight for a while. The old Bear had been in the same predicament as the Master of Ships, looking for someone to discuss his proposed marriage. Varys had been his main target but he’d found that it was easier to find an actual spider compared to  _ the _ Spider. Eventually, he’d caught sight of Davos and had hurriedly sought to catch up with him before he lost sight of the other man. Jorah let out a heavy breath of air with a puff of his cheeks, regaining some of his usual composure. 

Davos looked at him in concern, fearing that something had gone wrong. “I haven’t seen you move that fast since we took this city.” For a moment, he thought back to that eventful and chaotic day, remembering the Great Sept of Baelor exploding into awful green flames, the same ones that had claimed his sons. He’d believed that he was going to meet the same fate but had been saved by the heroics of Hidebyo, the great dragon that he still didn't fully understand how had come into existence. “Are we in trouble?” 

“Not that I know of,” Jorah answered, starting to lead the way through the maze of dark corridors. He smirked slightly as his companion shook his head. “But it’s always good to see that that thought is constantly in your head.”

“It’s better to be prepared and paranoid. I wouldn’t have survived nearly as long as I did as a smuggler if I’d had any other mindset.” He peered with squinted eyes at the head of the Gold Cloaks. “If we’re not in any apparent and immediate danger...what caused you to seek my company so urgently. Should I take it as a compliment?”

“I was trying to find someone from the Council, which turned out to be an even more difficult task than I first imagined.”

Davos chuckled mirthlessly. “Tell me about it. I was trying to do the same thing. Do you know why everyone seems to be in hiding today? Or why people have been acting strangely recently?”

“You mean Bruda, don’t you?” Jorah asked with a sigh, wishing that he knew the answer to that question as well.

“His behaviour springs to mind, yes. But he’s always been a bit...how should I put it...mad. But I dare say that our queen hasn’t been herself too.”

“She’s under a lot of stress, what with not knowing what’s going to happen with the North. All her life, she’s tried her best to ensure she’s always in control of her fate. But recently...she’s having to come to terms with the fact that that can’t always be the case. It’s why she sent me out to find some of you, so that we can talk about one thing she can control. The wedding.”

Davos nodded his head knowingly. “With everything that’s going on around here, I almost forgot that was happening. Do you think now is the best time to be organising it?”

“That was Daenerys’ main concern but...think about it...the whole point of the original idea was for it to be a preventative measure. To stop a conflict from happening. Even if I don’t think I’m that powerful a tool.”

“You’d be surprised. A symbol of an alliance that strong...even if it just swayed a few families to stay on our side, then it’d be worth it.”

“So you think it’s a good idea to do this now then?” Jorah was still nervous about the prospect, irrationally fearing that Daenerus would eventually realise she should have chosen someone more becoming of her place in society. It would be better for her to marry into a wealthy and strong family to boost her position. But he knew that he was too selfish to let that happen and she wouldn’t want that in the first place.

“I’m not the person to be asking. If you want your wedding to take place on a boat, then I’m your man. Otherwise, you’ll need to be seeing Bronn to plan the finances, especially if we’re juggling preparations for war. Tyrion and Varys would be of help as well, if you can find them.”

Jorah nodded his head tiredly. He wished it could be more simple. He wished they could just run away and get married in secret. But she deserved the lavish ceremony, no expense spared. They turned into another empty corridor, which was brighter than the ones they’d just walked through with windows lining the wall to their right. They pressed on, still uneasy about how quiet it was. They hadn’t even come across any soldiers for a while now. They felt a low rumble before they saw anything. The floor beneath their feet seemed to shake from an unknown force, the Keep practically moving. Davos and Jorah supported themselves with the wall, brandishing their swords in case they were under attack. But it didn't feel like any sort of invasion they’d experienced before. As they regained their footing, their view was blinded as the windows were tinged orange. They stared with their mouths wide open as they saw a streak of ugly fire fly past them. They were quickly by the viewpoint, looking down as they saw the flames gouge out a section of the castle below. Their faces deathly pale, the two men looked at one another in fear. Their first thought was that one of the dragons had got loose and was wreaking havoc above the city. But there was no flying beast weaving through the clouds. 

“You know when you said there was no trouble…” Davos murmured. And they started to run, not knowing where the best place would be to go.

**********

Melisandre perused the market stalls deep within the city, venturing outside of the Red Keep for a change, which was a rare occurrence for her. She was doing it as a favour for Grandmaester Marwyn, who had said he needed his stocks replenishing as soon as possible. Normally, she would have felt that she was above such menial tasks and allowed him to just wait for the deliveries to arrive (even if that could have taken months). But she had wanted to get some fresh air, to get away from the castle. Spending so much time within those tall walls was enough to make anyone go mad and Melisandre had the added pressure of worrying about Bruda constantly. She would still take part in experiments and join others in meals when one was put on in the main hall but her mind would always be elsewhere, thinking about that infernal man. It had been a while now since she had seen him truly happy, the night he had returned from his brief dismissal. From that point on, he had...changed. The exuberance that had made up his personality was mostly gone, he was more reserved and quiet, especially compared to the bombastic man she had fallen in love with.  _ Love. _ Was this her realising that she did, in fact, love him? To see him hurting and going through something that she couldn’t understand and how that made her feel helpless and useless...was that the definition of love? If your partner was in pain, so were you? She’d presumed she felt that way for a long time but had never admitted it to him. She hadn’t allowed herself to be sucked into the fantasy, knowing that she didn't deserve that beautiful part of life. Her past actions forfeited any right she had to that joy, or so she believed. Bruda had told her before that that wasn’t the case but it was difficult to believe. Now, as she came to terms with the fact that it was possible, she felt like she was losing him. 

She fought back tears as she walked past people, trying to be as unnoticed as possible. If she started crying, they would definitely start looking at her. She could still feel their eyes on her, wondering why she was dressed like that before figuring out who she was. She could practically feel the thoughts running through their heads, the judgement, the disgust. When she had been the Red Woman, the true believer of the Lord of Light, the opinions of others had never affected her. Why should they? She was working for a higher cause that she was lucky enough to understand. But that shield and blindness had been taken away from her just as easily as the pain and suffering she had been going through. Sometimes, when she was alone and Bruda was nowhere to be seen, she would think about whether she was happy about the change she’d undergone. It was irrational and selfish to harbour such thoughts; she knew how lucky she was to have been given a second chance, for a man as great as Bruda to see what she was actually capable of if she were to be freed. That didn't stop her thinking about it when she was abandoned. But the sensation of her powers moving through her body, testing her limitations, would remind her that she had something to do now. She’d been practicing every night, trying to hone her skills and get a control over this new magic. It was difficult and took a lot of energy to train, making her feel drained and tired straight afterwards. But she could sense that her efforts were proving to be successful, albeit the progress being painfully slow. 

It would have been easier for her if Bruda had continued to help her through it. That had come with the change in his attitude. He suddenly had something else on his mind, too preoccupied to remember to teach her how to use their intertwined magic. She understood that he was busy but she had believed that he would always make time for her. In a sense, she was grateful for his lack of attention. It meant she was less nervous about messing up since there would be no one watching to make her feel embarrassed and it was also spurring her on, wanting to show him that she didn't need to rely on his tutelage. She pictured his shocked face when the time came to use her powers, smiling at the thought as she squeezed past a large, slow-walking group. 

Melisandre hadn’t noticed someone had been watching her as she walked through the cobbled roads, so lost she was in her head. Gendry had spotted her quite easily, mainly due to the red, flowing dress she still chose to wear. He couldn’t remember a time when she had been so blatantly alone, always being in the company of the warlock or the old maester. With training of the City Watch done for the day (he was slowly becoming impressed with  _ some _ of the men he was working with but it was still going to be a long way before they could successfully and efficiently defend the city’s walls), he was free to follow her, trying to see what she was up to. He could hear Davos’ words in his head, to stay well clear of her, to control his anger. Was he feeling anger towards her? Or curiosity? Ever since the meeting they’d had with Bruda, he wasn’t so sure. He just knew that he wanted to keep an eye on her, just in case she hurt someone like she had done to him. He was confused by her expression though. All he could describe it as was...sadness or despair. He’d never seen her like that before and, for some reason, it worried him, which was the reason he gave himself for pursuing her. 

The quick smile she’d been wearing disappeared when she saw a crowd of people heading in her direction, frantically running away from something. Their eyes were filled with fear and dread and she was immediately alarmed by the sight. She felt a low rumble across the city, an unnatural one. She didn't know how she knew that but she could just...sense it. The public, who had been milling about calmly just a second ago, were suddenly barging through the streets, shoving each other out of the way. Melisandre saw mothers frantically pick up their children to prevent them from getting trampled. Some of the stalls she had been looking at crumpled to the ground, knocked down by the wave of people, their products rolling around and smashing. Against her better judgement, she decided to continue in the direction she’d orginally been going, towards whatever was causing this mass panic. Keeping to the sides to avoid most of the onslaught, she rushed forward, knowing that Bruda would have been doing the same if he were there. It was growing warmer, the first few beads of sweat shining on her forehead. As she started to turn the corner, she felt a strong hand on her shoulder pull her roughly back. She turned around and was surprised to see Gendry holding her with one arm, his other hand holding his warhammer. 

“What are you doing?” he shouted loudly over the chaos, looking at her with wide eyes.

She was still startled by the fact that he was talking to her but knew that was the least of her concerns. “What does it look like? I’m seeing what is causing this.”

He shook his head. “That warlock has messed with your head. Are you mad? You need to get to safety.”

“When have you ever been concerned about my welfare?” she responded scathingly, making him pause. “And isn’t it your duty to protect the city, Lord Baratheon?”

He knew she had him there. He was faintly aware of the sight of some of his City Watch knights running away with the crowd, making him realise that she was right and he had to do something. “I’m going to regret this.” 

Together, they rounded the corner and were surprised at what they found. It was quieter than they’d anticipated, most of the locals running behind them in the distance. There was one figure alone, a woman. Her head was bowed, her face obscured by a mane of fiery orange hair, but Melisandre had a dreaded feeling of who it was, even if she couldn’t explain why this had scared so many people.

“Is that…” murmured Gendry, unsure of what he was seeing. He’d anticipated coming face to face with an army, an invasion force. He was better prepared to deal with that sort of threat.

“Ustrina,” the woman next to him answered, nodding her head. The first inkling she got as to what was happening was when her own magic flared up within her, a strange burning sensation that wasn’t too painful. She looked more closely at the other person and saw her hands slowly become drenched in a swirling red force. As the energy grew brighter, the ground beneath them seemed to shake once again, stones turning up and flying up. Before they could react, a dark fire was pouring out from the ground around Ustrina, a torrent of flame and dirt. They watched as it went through the closest building, an old streethouse, its walls left as piles of rock and rubble. They were transfixed by the sight, unmoving, paralysed. They stared in horror as the flames grew, with the lone woman at the epicentre, her hair flowing as wildly as the fire she’d conjured up. It ascended into a tall column, their eyes trained on it as it rose, before it fell again. As it reached the ground, it shot out like a pulse, heading straight for them at a startling pace. As Gendry dived to the floor for protection, for what good that would do, trying to bring her down with him, Melisandre closed her eyes and held out her hands. As a second ticked by without them being consumed by the monstrosity, she forced herself to look. Gendry, even more perplexed than before, scrambled to his feet, staring at her in shock. A golden shield had erupted in front of them, a body of pure magical energy just like Bruda’s protecting them from the attack. She was surprised by how easy it was to sustain it more than the actual sight, although her arms were growing tired.

“You...you...how…” sputtered Gendry.

“We don’t exactly have time to talk about it, do we?” she said testily. Her arms were aching considerably now. “I don’t know what’s going on or why she’s doing this. I didn't even know she could do this!”

“We need to get back to the Keep,” he suggested. Melisandre nodded her head after a moment’s thought before they started to run towards it, not knowing that Ustrina was watching them do so with a knowing smile on her face.

**********

The room was dark and empty, that was the first thing that he noticed. He was faintly aware of a distant rumbling but that was far away so didn't probably concern him. His head was banging, making it difficult for him to remember what had happened up to that point. He had confronted Ustrina with the sole intention of stopping her by any means. He’d finally built up the courage to do that but then he’d seen someone. Who was it? He struggled to picture her.  _ Her.  _ It was definitely a woman. He groaned and put his head in his hands as it all came back to him. Isabella had been the one to stop him. If he was being rational, he would have realised that that was something the Isabella he’d known would never have done. But he was too much of a coward, afraid to go through losing her yet again. And, because of that foolishness, he’d allowed Ustrina to get away, who had vowed to do...something. He rubbed his head, waiting for the details to return. It was as if his memories were a jigsaw puzzle and he was missing the final piece. Then it clicked into place.  _ Fire _ . The entirety of the city was in danger and it was all his fault. His heart sank as he focused on that infernal noise in the distance, fearing what it could be. It definitely didn't sound good. And that meant Daenerys was in peril. With that singular thought, the haze lifted, his dizziness dissipated.

Bruda stood up, using the wall to support himself. His limbs were aching, presumably from being fired against the wall. Ustrina had used a lot of force with minimal effort which worried him greatly. He scolded himself for underestimating her for so long, believing that he could deal with her on his own, without telling anyone. There was still time to rectify his mistakes; it was just the small matter of whether Daenerys would forgive him this time. He’d pushed his luck in the past but this would be seen as his worst failure. He looked around the abandoned room, noticing that his staff was gone. Ustrina must have taken it although he didn't know why. She probably presumed that it was the conductor of his powers. His mood was slightly lifted as that realisation sunk in - hopefully that meant she knew less about him than she claimed, which would give him a chance of defeating her when the time came to face her. The momentary positivity was dampened as the room shook violently, a cloud of dust raining down from the ceiling, bringing him back to the present.

He opened the door and proceeded to run as fast as he could (at his age, that wasn’t as fast as he would have liked). He’d been conscious for only a few moments, accounting for him occasionally bumping into the walls of the corridor, but his mind had already been going at a frenetic pace. He’d contemplated going straight for Ustrina to see if he could still stop her but, as he almost collapsed again, he had to accept that he was in no fit state to fight her. It would only stall her if anything and would leave the others unprotected. Instead, he decided to head for Daenerys’ quarters, thinking that the safest thing to do would be to get her out of the castle before the crazed warlock could do too much damage. He resolutely continued, missing the support of his staff terribly, wincing as his run turned into a walk.

He was put on edge when he heard footsteps coming up behind him, turning around with his hands in a defensive position, golden magic flaring up around his fingers. Jorah and Davos skidded to a halt before they charged into the older man. It was the knight who, upon seeing the state Bruda was in, put his hands on his shoulders to hold him, looking into his eyes. The rumblings were getting larger, the far away screams of the people on the streets below getting louder. 

“Bruda...what happened to you?” Jorah asked in a frantic tone, looking over at Davos. They hadn’t seen the warlock look so worse for wear since they’d met him.

He still had enough energy to wave off their concerns. “There’s no time to be worrying about me. We need to get to Daenerys urgently.”

“Well, that’s what we were doing before we came across you,” Davos responded. “But we’re heading into the unknown here. This...threat has come out of nowhere. We saw...something unexplainable. Torrents of fire. This is no army attacking us. We couldn’t have prepared for this.”

Bruda looked down at the floor guiltily, which the two other men easily picked up on. Jorah shook him roughly, forcing him to look at them. “You knew about this, didn't you?” A similar anger that Bruda had seen the night Daenerys had fallen unconscious flashed in the knight’s eyes, his lips set in a firm line.

The old warlock nodded. “It’s Ustrina.” He stopped them before they could speak, seeing their stunned expressions. “I...didn't know she was going to do this. She overpowered me when I confronted her just before. I tried to stop this, you have to believe me. I just...couldn’t. Not this time.”

“But you knew she  _ could  _ do this?” Davos asked, trying to picture the woman he hardly knew as this powerful being. It wasn’t making sense. “That she had the capability to do this?”

“I knew she had powers like mine. Greater than mine.”

“Then why didn't you tell us?” Jorah shouted.

Bruda knew that they needed to be hurrying up if they were to help anyone yet understood they wouldn’t do anything without some sort of explanation. “You really wouldn’t believe me. She used someone I truly care about to stop me. It was like if she asked you to harm Daenerys to stop her - would you have done it?”

“I want more details.”

“We don’t have time! Whilst we’re talking, Ustrina is harnessing more of her power. I have a dreaded feeling of what that entails.” He looked at them with an urgent gaze, trying to make them see sense. Jorah was the last to back down but, with a sigh, he started moving again, pulling Bruda with him, trying not to think about what was happening outside.

**********

Melisandre and Gendry continued to run, heading up the hill towards the Red Keep. Gendry made sure to remain behind his companion, constantly checking back to analyse the ongoing threat. A ring of fire was circling Ustrina, making it impossible to see her. The only positive was that the flames didn't seem to be attacking anyone or any of the buildings anymore. That put him on high alert though as he realised she must have been doing something else. They just didn't know what. Gendry was still trying to get a grasp on the situation, dumbfounded by this turn of events. How was she doing all of this in the first place? Let alone why she was doing this. He was processing that along with the fact Melisandre had likely saved his life when she had shielded him from the flames. The resentment he had felt towards her, although not completely gone (he reckoned that he would never get over what she had done to him at Dragonstone with the leeches), was lessening as he watched her run in front of him.

Soldiers charged past them, mainly consisting of Unsullied fighters armed with their usual spears. They tried to stop them, fearing that their weapons would be of no use against such a powerful foe. The army didn't listen. Gendry, despite knowing what was about to happen to them, had to commend their bravery, even if it was ultimately misplaced. They would have been better reinforcing the defences of the castle, not taking Ustrina on out in the open. As the soldiers neared, standing slightly away from the fire, poised to fight, the two of them stopped as they watched what was about to happen. They couldn’t look away, didn't want to shield their eyes. They needed to see what she was capable of, if she was willing to callously murder people.

“Can’t you...do something to help them?” Gendry asked, motioning to her hands before quickly looking back at the scene unfolding.

“This is the first time I’ve used my powers.” Her voice was strained, almost hoarse. He could tell how tired she was, how much the effort before had taken out of her. “What little I could do to help them would be of no use and it would likely put me on the brink of exhaustion. Now isn’t the time to be collapsing, not yet.”

“But they’ll die!” He couldn’t see how trying to help them was a bad thing. Was this her old attitude resurfacing? 

“They’re doing their jobs.”

Helplessly, Gendry watched as the soldiers edged closer. He expected the fire to expand at any moment to consume them. He prepared himself to hear their screams. But that didn't happen. They walked forwards still, shielding their faces from the intense light. Ustrina didn't seem to be bothered by their presence. He wondered if they could press her back, somehow get past the flames. But then the orange glow pulsed brilliantly within itself, a momentary scar of red light running through the blaze. The soldiers halted, confused as to what this development was. Gendry’s face went pale, as did Melisandre’s, as they saw the shadows of figures appear in each tongue of fire. From what they could see, as they stepped out from the fire, they were unharmed, unaffected by the heat, unlike what they had expected to see. The soldiers moved to attack these new foes but their weapons went straight through the assailants before they took hold of them. This time, the two of them looked away but couldn’t blank out their helpless cries.

Gendry stared at Melisandre. “What were they?”

She was practically shaking. “We need to move. Now.”

**********

Seeing as it was one of the securest spots in the Red Keep, it came as no surprise to the trio of Jorha, Davos and Bruda that everyone else had congregated there. They looked at them as they charged into the room with nervous expressions, Daenerys quickly rushing to be by their side. Missandei was perched against the wall, being comforted by Marwyn, who looked in just as bad a shape. Even Bronn looked unnerved, which was unusual for the normally calm and collected man, as he stood off to one side. Tyrion’s face was pale and ashen, Varys standing by his side in a shock of green robes. Shireen ran over to Davos when she saw him, clinging to his leg tightly and fearfully. There were a few soldiers scattered about but not nearly as many as they’d hoped to find. Occasionally, the chamber would shake and the relative peace they’d found in here would disappear. Daenerys held onto Jorah, looking up at him before glancing over to see Bruda’s grave demeanour. She wasn’t afraid as such. She was angry that this was happening (whatever  _ this _ was) and that she seemingly couldn’t do anything about it. She wanted to be the brave queen who could protect her citizens but how could she do that when she was reduced to cowering in the corner of her castle. The first thing she wanted...no, expected...was some answers and she hoped that the newcomers would have some sort of explanation.

“I haven’t been able to see outside,” she said. “The castle just started...trembling and I ran here. I thought it best to not be alone right now.”

“You made the right choice,” Jorah responded quietly, wanting to reach out and comfort her but knowing she needed to act like the strong ruler she was. “Especially since this isn’t a threat we’ve ever dealt with.”

They looked at him curiously, wondering what he meant by that. “It’s not an army or anything?” she wondered.

Jorah looked over to the tired warlock, feeling a pang of anger when he saw him. “I think you should explain, Bruda.”

With all eyes now on him, the man in question sighed and looked at them all in turn, seeing the fear in their eyes, the confusion, the panic. “First of all, I want to know where Melisandre is.” He had hoped to find her with the rest of them, praying that she would have used her common sense to stay safe. That had obviously been too much to ask for. 

“She...she was in the markets,” Marwyn answered nervously. “I sent her down there.” He placed his hands on his face. “If she gets hurt...it’ll be all my fault.” He was worried that, if something did happen to her, he’d have the old warlock to deal with, which was a proposition he wasn’t too excited about.

“But what’s going to hurt her?” Daenerys pressed on. “What’s attacking the city?”

“Ustrina,” Bruda said quietly, He ran a hand through his beard as their perplexed looks grew deeper. “She’s a warlock. Just like me.”

“And Bruda knew about her powers,” Jorah added accusingly. “But didn't tell us anything about her.”

“There’s no use in pointing fingers right now! We don’t exactly have the luxury of time on our side.”

“But why didn't you say anything?” Varys asked. It wasn’t said with any of the anger Jorah had used; it was more curious and considering.

“She threatened me. Blackmailed me. She said that, if I told anyone or attempted to stop her, she was going to…”

“Kill you?” Jorah presumed. “You should still have said something. You may have jeopardised everything here.”

“Stop it.” Daenerys interjected softly, walking towards the warlock. He couldn’t meet her eyes. She thought back to her own experiences, seeing Drogo, how Bruda hadn’t been at all surprised by her revelation. It started to make sense as she realised something similar must have happened to him too. She let out a small gasp. “Isabella.” Her eyes stung with tears when she saw him nod his head. 

The others didn't seem to understand (which was perfectly reasonable), Davos turning his head to glance at them both in wonder. “How could she threaten a dead woman?” He quickly figured out how blunt that sounded, wincing as he looked at Bruda. “No offence.”

“From what I can tell, she has the ability to bring back the dead in some form. Something greater than a ghost but not their full form. When I discovered she’d done this with Isabella...I should have fought it but I couldn’t.”

“We’re facing someone else who can raise the dead?” Bronn asked bitterly, shaking his head. “But someone who also has magic powers? And I thought that dead fella was bad.”

Tyrion was looking at the floor, hardly paying attention to the conversation. Bruda picked up on his strange energy, walking over to him. “You don’t seem overly surprised by what I’m saying. What did you see?”

“I thought it was a dream,” the dwarf muttered coldly. “He was standing in front of me, insulting me. I couldn’t get out. Now you’re saying that this woman has brought back my father for real? What for? What does this mean?” He kept grimacing, bearing his teeth in anguish. 

“It means her powers are growing. First it was just me but...if you and Daenerys have been affected, who knows what she can do.” At his words, Jorah gave Daenerys a strange look, wondering why she hadn’t said anything about being ‘affected’.

“You didn't answer his first question,” Varys picked up on. “Why is she doing this in the first place? Why attack the city? Is out of some sort of vengeance or power grab?” 

“She hasn’t told me a lot. She made it out as if she was doing a good thing, reuniting people with those they’ve loved. I tried to tell her that wouldn’t work. Just look at Tyrion - some relationships don’t work out for the best. As for attacking the city, she believes she needs a spot of power to be able to accomplish more.”

“And the greatest spot of power is the throne?” Daenerys finished, her fists clenched in anger and a sense of injustice. She hadn’t worked so hard to lose the Crown so soon. A fire raged inside of her when Bruda nodded his head. “You knew about this. You knew that, eventually, she’d have to remove me if she wanted to succeed.”

“Initially, I thought I could stall her until I thought of a way to stop her properly.”

Daenerys turned away furiously. “I told you to keep no more secrets from me! I  _ ordered _ you to stop trying to deal with things on your own! You’ve worked against me here. You betrayed me!” She thought back to the premonitions she’d seen in her head, seeing Bruda turn against her in support of a powerful being. It was coming true, she knew it. 

“I never once betrayed you!” Bruda said strongly. “Never. I tried to stop her before but she overpowered me. Then she started doing this.”

“You keep saying  _ try _ . Maybe you should have tried harder. Then we might not have been in this situation.”

“You think I don’t know that? I keep telling myself that every day but it won’t change anything now. All that matters now is protecting you.”

“Not stopping her?”

“How would you propose we do that? I can’t beat her. None of you have magical powers.”

“We have dragons.”

“Dragons that should have turned up by now. I’m sure that she would have locked them up somehow before she did this. Right now, we’re on our own.” He was all too aware of the dark glares that were being sent his way. Jorah was gripping his sword and Bruda didn't know if that was to help protect them or to attack him. He made sure to keep a distance regardless of the answer. 

They were all put on edge as two people ran into the hall, coming the same way as they had before. Melisandre and Gendry were met with the sight of the warlock balling up his fists with blue energy warping around them and most of the men pointing their longswords in their direction. That was before they realised who they were, Bruda using most of his remaining energy to run towards her, enveloping her in a hug. Although she reciprocated, it wasn’t filled with the usual warmth they shared. He pulled back to look into her eyes, which were globes of fire seething at him. 

“You brought her here,” she spat. “When you met her, did you know she had abilities like our own?”

“I’ve been through this with everyone else. I found out a few weeks ago. I was trying to stop her.”

“But you couldn’t.” She didn't have to see him nod to know what his response would be. “I only just managed to ward off her flames.”

He looked at her with wide eyes. “You managed to use your magic?” he asked hopefully. Despite the situation, she allowed herself to smile and nodded. He hugged her tighter this time, only just resisting the urge to swing her about. “You have no idea how proud I am of you.”

She couldn’t remember anyone saying that to her at any point in her life and she was filled with an unbridled sense of joy that was at odds with the circumstances. “I guess a life threatening attack really forces you to progress quickly.”

“I’m sorry to break up this sweet moment,” Gendry interrupted. “But the threat isn’t just a ball of fire now.”

“What else could possibly be going wrong?” Davos asked, who had moved over to the younger man when he’d entered, happy to see that was somehow okay. 

“People came out of the flames.” The way he spoke, it seemed like he was reliving the nightmare all over again. “Dead people. They took out the soldiers that tried to stop them. They were heading for the Keep as we ran up here. We don’t have long. Even with the guards we have stationed out there...you can’t stop an unkillable foe.” As he spoke, the room shook violently, small parts of the ceiling beginning to crumble. Daenerys was only thinking about the image of figures emerging out of fire, another of her visions. She was wondering now if she should have said something about them. Was she as much at fault for this as Bruda? 

He was shaking his head, looking up at the fracturing ceiling. “She’s gaining her full powers. She’s already inside. I can feel it.”

“Then what do we do, Bruda?” Daenerys urgently asked. Even after what he’d done, she still looked to him for answers.

He stared at her with sad eyes. “We get you out of here. Surely there’s another way to get out of the Keep.”

“I know every secret entrance and exit this place has to offer,” Varys replied, already walking away. They immediately began to follow him. “The sewer network is the castle’s weakest point. The pipes lead past the city walls. It won’t be a pleasant journey.”

“That’s not a concern right now. Take them and go.”

Daenerys and Melisandre stopped, realising what his words meant. “You’re coming too,” the former ordered.

“I can’t leave Ustrina in charge without having some form of...guidance. She’d destroy everything without an element of prevention.”

“She hasn’t exactly listened to you so far. If this is some way of seeking...redemption, it’s not going to work.”

He sighed loudly. “My priority is keeping you safe! Now, for once, listen to me and get out whilst you’re still alive.” The ceiling above the exit from the room was groaning. There wasn’t a lot of time. Yet Melisandre stood by his side, holding him. He looked down at her. “You need to go with them and protect them. Please. At least I’ll know you’re safe.”

“She’ll kill you,” she said sadly. 

“I...don’t think she will. There’s still a chance of making her see sense. It may sound foolish…”

“It does,” Jorah snapped.

“...but it’s worth a try. Now go.”

Marwyn stepped back from the group. “If it’s okay with you, I’ll be staying too.” He held up a hand to stop any complaints. “I’m too old to be going on the run. And, whatever this woman plans to do, she’ll need a maester. I can be of use to her. I can make her see sense just like the warlock here.” Bruda reluctantly nodded his head and forced the others to go on. Some of them looked back forlornly, Daenerys and Melisandre in particular, before stones and rock began to fall, obscuring their view. It was just in time as well as the doors to Hall swung open, flying off their hinges with a red glow lighting up their edges. Ustrina, flanked by roughly ten figures, stared at them with glee, although she was annoyed to see her main prize wasn’t there.

“We have a lot of talking to do.”


	23. Silence and Kneeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruda tries to make one more stand against a victorious Ustrina as others decide to flee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Diana Rigg (a.k.a Olenna Tyrell), who sadly passed away today at the age of 82. May she rest in peace.

They were currently going through one of the times when they would be accompanied by silence. That was barring the quiet noises that sounded around them, the rustling of leaves on high branches as the wind gently swirled, the distant cries of animals that were either running away from them or getting a closer look, the crunch of the ground as their horses continued their steady plod. The silence wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It was actually quite comforting. There was no way that they would have been able to talk constantly throughout the duration of their journey. Jon Snow was not a man made for small talk, even if Oslen would have been happy to keep the conversation going. No, the silence did them good. It gave them time to think as they slowly made their way further south (the frosty bite in the air reminded them that they were definitely still in the north though). Jon liked to stay in his head for considerable chunks of time; they’d sometimes go hours without talking. The main thing that was playing on his mind was what Sansa wanted to tell him, which was understandable as it was the main reason for their visit. Even in writing, he could tell that she felt it was vitally important and, if it concerned their late brother, it would undoubtedly be serious. He had considered the fact that it could be a trap, as his riding partner had suggested back at the camp, but, deep down, he knew his sister wouldn’t joke about something like that. At least, the sister he had known wouldn’t. Jon hoped that she was still that same woman, despite the obvious fear she was going through. The worry that she had to make a name for herself, the notion that she had to give a better life to her people regardless of the fact that the majority of them were already happy enough. In a sense, that was the driving force behind his decision to come - his sister was scared and it was his job to fix that issue.

As they’d maneuvered around the many obstacles in their way, normally steep inclines and treacherous paths that could claim even the most nimbly footed of steeds, it had given him time to also think about his other family. That’s what he had called the people he had left behind as they travelled to King’s Landing. Before the two of them had left, the letters from Sansa had only increased in frequency but they had dried up from Daenerys. As each day passed by, he feared that something had gone wrong or was bound to happen to them. The longer it took to reach Sansa at Winterfell, the likelier it was that she would do something drastic. He comforted himself with the knowledge that his queen had plenty enough protection around her. Her army was larger than most put together and he couldn’t think of anything that could best her loyal warlock. He still worried though. When they stopped for the night, the black sky their only companion, and minutes ticked by with them not getting any closer to their goal. It drove him to ride faster when the sun rose, much to the annoyance of Oslen. She was an able enough rider herself though and could easily keep up - she just liked to moan that she was being forced to do that.

They had passed through the Wall with as much fuss as Jon had expected. With time against him, he had naturally not wanted to stay long. But he had also wanted to enjoy seeing many of his comrades again, eventually deciding to stay the night and tuck into a hot meal (it beat sleeping on the cold ground that they were begrudgingly getting used to). Eddison Tollett had been happy to see him and even happier to highlight the improvements he’d introduced at Castle Black. He’d spent the evening as they drunk copious amounts of ale waxing lyrical about how easy it was to be Commander. Jon had retorted that it was bound to be when they weren’t at war, wanting to defend himself to an extent. That had prompted a score of boisterous laughter at his expense. They’d also been all too eager to ask intrusive questions towards Oslen, wondering who she was  _ in relation  _ to Jon. His cheeks had coloured a bright and wonderful red as the insinuations became increasingly less discreet and polite. To her credit though, Oslen had come back at them with the point she was her own woman, not something to only be described in connection to Jon. That had warmed her to the others rather quickly. The only issue they’d faced during their short stay had come in the morning when Alliser Thorne had argued they couldn’t let them through without a proper explanation (Jon was reluctant to tell them too many details about the reason for their impromptu journey). He believed that, despite a general growth of acceptance towards the wildlings after the war, people wouldn’t like them running about below the Wall whenever they wanted. However, Jon had felt his protests were almost half-hearted, as if he was just doing it to keep up appearances - Tollett had soon overruled him and they’d set upon their way once again.

That was the last time they’d spoken to anyone else. The ramifications of the White Walkers were clear to see in how empty the land was, families evidently destroyed as they’d approached Winterfell. It left a sombre atmosphere hanging over them but they’d still managed to talk, getting to know one another. There was something that he couldn’t put his finger on about her, something hidden beneath the surface. All he could tell was that there was something she was hiding, keeping close to her chest. A small part of him wanted to be allowed to see that part of her. He looked over at her as she rode on his right, trying to not make it too obvious that he was staring. The only issue though was, because no one else was around and the scenery hadn’t really changed for a number of hours, she almost immediately picked up on the change in his behaviour. She smirked when she caught him, dragging her hand through her red hair to tuck it behind her ear. Jon tried to play it off as if he hadn’t been spotted doing anything particularly wrong, acting as if he’d simply been looking at the trees behind her. Even he knew it wasn’t going to work.

“I don’t mind you looking,” she flirted. He’d found she liked to do that a lot, mainly because she’d figured out it made him incredibly uncomfortable. “I hope you realise that. I’d just like to know  _ why _ you were looking.”

He shrugged his shoulders, now looking straight forward. Anywhere but at her. “Do I need to have a reason?”

“Not especially. I’m just curious. You can’t fault a girl for that, surely.”

“If you must know...I’m just curious about you,” he admitted. This was the exact opposite of the sort of conversation he preferred. 

“I’m flattered. What, in particular, are you curious about? So I can see if I can... _ enlighten _ you.”

“We’ve spoken a lot over this journey. About a lot of things. But...I feel like you’re hiding something from me. There’s more to you than you let on. And don’t say that there isn’t because you’d be lying.”

Oslen shook her head. “Well then, how can I answer? Because I’m not hiding anything. Why would I? There’s nothing exceptionally exciting about me.”

He looked into her eyes (or as much as he could - it was a fairly difficult task when you were also controlling a horse) and he was ashamed to see how hurt she was by his accusations. She was either a brilliant actress or he had gravely misinterpreted her. Either way, he hung his head, wanting to take back the moment he’d even brought it up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place.”

“Stop apologising. It’s as if, every time you say something vaguely wrong around me, you’re instantly trying to make up for it when you don’t have to! That’s not how the Free Folk do it. In fact, you asking me all that is the first time you’ve shown me since I first met you that you’re finally becoming like us. It’s a good thing. If you had those worries, you needed to get them off your chest. We wouldn’t have been able to work well if you were constantly questioning...my motives or something! I’ll take it as a compliment that you think I’m capable of any of that.”

“So...you’re...normal?” He winced at his wording.

She laughed. “No one’s normal. Have you seen what we’re like beyond the Wall? There’s no fun in being normal anyway. All you need to know is that I am  _ me _ . And that’s a guarantee.”

“I’m glad about that. It’s just...you’ve heard about the things I’ve seen.”

“I’ve heard murmurings. Tell me about it. We’ve got a lot of time to pass after all.”

“Don’t know where I’d start. You wouldn’t believe most of it. Fighting against hordes of the dead. When I close my eyes, I still see them running towards me. In my head, I don’t even have a sword. They just swarm around me and there’s nothing I can do about it. If horrors like that can exist in the world, can you blame me for having doubts about people?”

“I can’t imagine how you even sleep at night.”

“I survived. That helps. We beat them. Well...that was down to Bruda.”

Oslen seemed to perk up at his name. “You’ve mentioned him before. You speak about him with such...reverence. Why?”

“I’ve seen dragons fly above my head, controlled by a young woman. But even that magic can’t compare to what he could conjure. He was a warlock. Is still a warlock, as far as I’m aware. I haven’t seen him since I was last in King’s Landing. But he saved everyone that day. He saved the entire kingdom. He defeated the Night King. We owe him everything now I think about it. Even just being able to ride around like this, without those worries hanging over us. I didn't say it enough to him.”

“And he survived all that? How?”

Jon shrugged, not sure why she was so interested about that. “I don’t know. One moment, we were told he’d died. The next, he was charging through the castle, hell bent on writing a wrong. I suppose it had something to do with his magic. I wasn’t told the specifics.”

Oslen appeared deflated at his comment. “He sounds...impossible.” She looked up to the sky. “The sun is nowhere near setting just yet. Tell me more.”

**********

Bruda tried to pull himself to his full height as Ustrina stalked into the room. He glared at her but she didn't seem to care. She sauntered around the throne room, glancing at the rubble that was blocking the doorway behind the two men who had stayed behind. The ceiling had caved in just as the others had left; Bruda saw that as the only good thing that had happened that day. She rolled her eyes at the sight, beckoning four of the soldiers from the group that had followed her. Their faces were pale and gaunt, ghosts in suits of armour. Bruda and Marwyn stared at them in a mix of fascination and fear as they began to clear the mess.

“I’m presuming you told them everything about me before they ran away,” she said as she circled them, her eyes fixed only on the throne. “I have to say I’m a little disappointed. Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, running away from the fight. It seems almost out of character. Or maybe she’s not as mighty as the stories claim.”

“She knew she couldn’t win today. She made the right choice in going before you came. So that she can fight another day,” Bruda defended his queen strongly. He felt that he had to do, given how much he’d already failed her.

“It’s not a decision she’d make though, is it? I’m disappointed in you too, Bruda. Ordering her to do it, I reckon. Betraying me so easily and for what? You lost. And now poor Isabella is going to have to suffer for your actions. To teach you a lesson.”

He stiffened, his nostrils flaring as he looked at her in anger. “You won’t harm her.”

This time, she did look at Bruda. Her eyes flashed red and her smile curled, a truly cruel sight. “You need to understand one thing, warlock. Unlike your precious Daenerys, you cannot tell me to do anything. I could do anything I want to Isabella. I brought her back after all. I could hurt her, torture her, kill her. I could click my fingers and seduce her, make her putty in my hands. I don’t know whether you’d be heartbroken at the sight or if you’d enjoy it.”

He tried to ignore her remarks, knowing that she was simply saying it to rile him up. To make him make a mistake, to force her hand. “You created her like you created these new puppets.”

She smiled, understanding that his changing of the subject meant she’d struck a nerve. It was too easy to taunt him. “Created? No. They were reborn in the flames. This world hasn’t seen such a surge of life in its history. That’s what I did here. I gave them life again. Can you stand against that? What do you think of them?”

“They’re a disgrace. This isn’t life. They’re mindless drones, bent to do your bidding, work to your will. Life is more than just...existing. It’s about choice and free will. You didn't let them choose to come back.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve always been one for poetry. You don’t see the full picture. I’m not just talking about  _ their  _ life. Look at them. This city has seen the greatest soldiers throughout history pass through its streets, many of whom died here too. Bringing them back allows them to form the greatest army the kingdom has ever witnessed, defending its people against all foes. Thousands will survive because wars will cease to happen, enemies perturbed by the mere knowledge of what awaits them behind these walls.”

“So you did all this...to create an army? And here I thought you were actually going to be original. You’re nothing more than another insane, deluded narcissist. It isn’t down to you to rid the world of war, especially if it means everyone has to end up like this.”

She was standing next to him, prowling. She gently dragged her nails over the back of his neck. He could feel her breath on his skin, she was that close. “Why can’t it be down to me? It takes someone of immense power to bring about meaningful change. Merge that person with the most powerful position the kingdom has to offer...then there’s no end to the life I can bring.”

“And what happens to Daenerys in all this?”

“She’s probably still in this castle, trying to find a way out. If my men can’t find her before she leaves, then so be it. She’s no longer my enemy. She has no power to stand against me.”

“You’re not going to search for her? You don’t want to kill her?”

Ustrina laughed coldly. “Trust me, it would have been easier to be rid of her. But I have more important things to focus on. All she was and all she achieved has disappeared. She doesn’t have the throne, she’s lost her dragons, and the old man she loved is standing by my side. I’ve taken everything from her. I won’t take her life. I haven’t done this to kill people.”

Bruda couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It just didn't make sense and the fact that she actually believed her words showed how mad she really was. “You killed people before! You set fire to the streets of King’s Landing. The people you say you’re now looking over will have perished. Hundreds, maybe thousands. You stood there and heard their screams.”

“Let me ask you a question. Have you ever killed anyone?” She didn't need to wait for his answer, getting it from the way he froze. “Of course you have. Can you remember how  _ many _ people you’ve killed?” Again, no answer came. “I thought so. Tell me then, how you can sneer at me when I’ve done nothing you haven’t before.”

“I’ve never killed innocent people.”

“Perhaps. Neither have I. The fires were contained. People ran because they couldn’t understand what was happening and they were frightened. But few died, other than soldiers. And they’re always a casualty of war. It comes with the territory of their profession. And those who did die won’t for long. More flames will come, more people will be resurrected. I can purge the kingdom of that pain... _ forever. _ ”

“You’re deranged,” he snarled, his fingertips lighting up in a flare of golden light.

Before he could do anything, he found himself on the ground again. Ustrina had sent a blast of magical energy at his legs, making them crumple under him. Marwyn hurried to his side, helping him sit up. They watched as she walked away, not caring about the warlock’s condition. She stood in front of the throne, looking at it in satisfaction. Slowly, she placed her hands on it, relishing in its feel. It sent a surge of power coursing through her body and she tilted her head back as she closed her eyes to enjoy it. “I’m victorious,” she amended. Turning around, she lowered herself into the seat. As she did so, wisps of black smoke appeared around her head, shaping into the visage of a crown. It held no joy like the crown Daenerys had worn. It was darkness woven into an intricate pattern, a single red jewel moulded into the front. It sat on top of her head, standing out against her flaming hair. The soldiers that had followed her moved further into the chamber, standing in lines as they knelt in front of their queen. Marwyn and Bruda shared a fearful look, knowing that it was worse than they had imagined, realising they should have gone with the others.

“Do you not kneel as well?” she asked them both, turning her head to look at them. There was a threat in her voice, an icy sharpness that cut through the fire of her persona. “Grandmaester. I was surprised to see you here. Is there a reason for that?”

He stood up, his old bones shaking as he moved to stand in front of her. He tried to not think about the army of the dead behind him. He’d hoped he would never have to deal with one of those again. “A ruler needs counsel, even you. I would have been a disservice to Daenerys on the journey they’ve been forced to take but I can still be of use to you.”

“How very presumptuous. What do you bring that I can’t conjure up with a wave of my hand?”

He hesitated, a bead of sweat getting caught in his brow. “Experience. You may be powerful but you have never ruled before. You can’t do it on your own. And the castle will still need to be tended for. All I ask is that I continue with my job.”

“Then kneel. Kneel before me and show me any loyalty you had to Daenerys Targaryen has gone. Promise me in this action that you will serve me dutifully as your queen. Your one and only queen.”

Marwyn looked at Bruda for advice. The warlock nodded his head slightly and the maester repeated the action. He lowered himself to the floor at the feet of Ustrina, who smiled.

“I’m glad you did that. We always got on so splendidly. Now...Bruda. Will you do the same?”

It was difficult for him to stand up without his staff but he managed to bring himself next to his remaining friend. His lips were set in a thin line as he glared daggers at her. It only served to please her more. “Do you really need me?”

“It’s true that my powers are greater than yours but your capabilities are nothing to ignore. Once you finally understand what we can achieve together, I feel you will never remember a time when you doubted this choice.”

“I will never understand or follow you,” he spat out.

“Then you will stay here as a message to Daenerys. Whenever she hears my name, she will think of you and her heart will break. Her drive will be shattered and she will give up with the fantasies of ever winning again.”

“So there’s no need for me to kneel.”

“Oh but I  _ want _ you to. I want to see you do it willingly. I’ve dreamt about this moment ever since I first laid eyes on you, all those years ago. And Isabella would be much better for it if you were to comply.” Her sweet smile at the end was doused in the twisted pleasure she was getting out of this. Bruda clenched his fists in anger, at being reminded of how he was being so easily manipulated. Ustrina glanced at his hands to see if he was going to do anything but no magic appeared. Instead, he slowly brought himself to his knees, giving in to her wishes. His new queen smiled.

**********

The rusted iron gates moaned as they were pushed open. Jorah was the first to emerge from the tunnel, his clothes covered in dirt. He shielded his eyes from the light, trying to adjust from the dark and gloom of the pathway they’d just traversed. Varys, who had been surprisingly nimble-footed as they’d traversed the slippery stones of the sewers, had been right about how easy it had been to get out of the city limits. It actually concerned Daenerys how simple it would have been for an enemy to sneak inside but the eunuch had assured her that he was the only one who knew about it. He’d had the others killed, just for his peace of mind. As they all walked out, one after another, they looked back on the city. They could see the distant trails of smoke blowing away from the buildings but no fires anymore. It seemed that, once Ustrina was inside the castle, she had seen fit to stop attacking the people. That was a small relief to the band of recently-labelled fugitives. 

Daenerys was only just holding onto her composure, her face a trained mask. How many years had it been on the way to the throne? She often lost count. How long had it been since Drogo had died, placing her on this path to supposed glory? The thought of the  _ deceased _ Khal only reminded her of what she was running away from. So much had happened in the few days since that revelation that she had somehow forgotten about it for a time. Her fear was that, no matter how far she ran, she wouldn’t be able to outrun him or the guilt he brought up within her. But she didn't want to run. This wasn’t her decision. In the tunnels far below  _ her _ castle, she had attempted to persuade them all to go back, to fight this creature. They had reiterated Bruda’s sentiment, that it was the best, and only, option to them for the time being. But she knew that she would eventually come back. Daenerys wanted to quench the anger that was billowing away inside of her. It was a renewed hatred of magic that had once made her kill the witch Mirri Maz Duur. Now it was focused on a new sorceress, who had defiled her dead husband. It was even aimed at Bruda, who had gone behind her back. What sort of a queen was she if she couldn’t even see that happening? Maybe she deserved this fate.

They trudged away from the tunnel, no longer bothered by the mud and sewage that they were having to wade through. In the fields next to them, some people stopped to look at them, curious about these strange figures. They were of a low class, unable to seek passage into the safety of King’s Landing, instead tending to its agricultural needs. They wouldn’t say anything about this. Who could they tell anyway? No one would listen. Still, Jorah made sure to cover Daenerys as much as possible, preventing her from being recognised. Even if Ustrina hadn’t sent soldiers out searching for them already, which she likely had, Daenerys would still be easily spotted if they weren’t careful. That was the main cause of his anger towards the warlock. He had known that this would happen eventually. Not only had his secrets forced them to flee like this, but it had also left them dangerously unprepared. How could they possibly go  _ anywhere _ without being figured out? They were a strange enough assortment of people as it was.

Tyrion grimaced as he looked back at the opening they’d come out from. “When I first redesigned the sewer system at Casterly Rock, I didn't expect my career to come to an end as I escaped through one.” His attempt at levity didn't seem to work. Some of them glanced at him but nothing about their expressions changed. Jorah and Daenerys, out in front, appeared to either not hear him or ignore him. He guessed that was understandable. As Hand of the Queen, he rightly felt that he had failed them all. He was the one who had confronted Bruda about the strange goings on in the Keep, on the bequest of Missandei, but he had been foolish enough to believe that the warlock could cope with the situation a lot better than he had done. He sighed, knowing that belief had come from what he’d seen the other man do, defeating the Night King, fighting armed men without a sword. Tyrion had forgotten that all men age and weaken, which had obviously happened to their friend. If he was still classed as such. He wanted to explain away his responsibility, to claim that seeing his father had messed with his head, stopping him from thinking like he usually would. As they walked away from the city, he came to the conclusion that now wasn’t the time for excuses, as much as there was no place for jokes.

They eventually made it to a small outcropping of trees, sheltered and covered out of sight from the King’s Road. Daenerys could have laughed. She was planning to change that name to suit her winning of the crown. That would have to wait now, if it ever happened. She looked at everyone else, who seemed in just as much a state of worse for wear as she was. Missandei was fighting back tears, Tyrion occasionally comforting her. Shireen was clinging onto the leg of Davos, who was stroking her hair and whispering calming reassurances. Bronn and Varys were looking around shiftily, on high alert for the sound of soldiers marching towards them. Melisandre seemed the most distant of the lot, which was understandable. She hadn’t uttered a word since being forced to leave the throne room, since being dragged away from the man she loved. For all they knew, Ustrina could have killed him as soon as she saw him, along with Marwyn. Despite everything he had done, Daenerys knew, deep down, that she would be heartbroken if that was to happen. She couldn’t even imagine how Melisandre was feeling in comparison. What intrigued her was the sight of Gendry looking at the red-haired woman, as if he were seeing her in a different light. Daenerys presumed that something must have happened when they’d first run from Ustrina. 

Jorah made his way back to her side after looking beyond the trees to see what was ahead of them. “The road is oddly empty. She must have closed the city gates to stop anyone from leaving.”

“And if anyone had heard about what was happening, they would have quickly turned around and started in the other direction,” Tyrion sagely pointed out.

“What’s the plan then?” Daenerys asked. “We’ve got to have a plan.” Her voice was almost desperate. “Where do we go?”

Jorah looked at her then the others. “The first thing we have to do is find some new clothes.” The women were still wearing long, luxurious dresses, although they had been ripped and muddied in parts during their frantic escape. Varys was dressed up in his normal fine robes, which he’d rolled up to an extent but it was still unwieldy. Even the men, although their clothes were practical (Jorah was happy that he had his chainmail on and not his full suit of armour), had sigils of the Crown and Tararyen family, which would be noticed straight away by any keen eye. “Even if the road is empty for now, we’ll eventually come across someone. We’ll want to do our best to pass off as normal travellers.”

“We don’t exactly have any coin to spend on new clothes,” Bronn said.

Gendry nodded his head in Melisandre’s direction. “She could magic us up some clothes.”

She was about to explain that she barely had any energy left after the previous extensive use of her powers but Daenerys cut in before her. “I’m not in the mood for any more magic today,” was her sour response. Melisandre glared at the other woman but kept her mouth closed.

Jorah sighed, not wanting any tensions to arise straight away amongst the group. That would get them nowhere. “We’ll come across inns and places like that. If we don’t have enough money, we’ll be able to trade. Fine material like we have won’t be sniffed at and most people won’t want to ask any questions when they’re getting a good deal.”

“And transport?” Davos asked. “I’m okay to walk for now but Shireen won’t be able to for miles on end.”

“I...I can walk if I have to,” she muttered quietly, not liking being the centre of attention.

“Inns will have horses and carts,” Varys assured them. “If we have any money left over, we can take them legally. If not...well, at least we have some able swords at our side.”

“But after all that,” Daenerys pressed on. “Where do we go? Who’d help us?”

“We can’t go east and try and cross the Narrow Sea,” Davos spoke up. “Word would spread among the sailors and the dockworkers. We’d get nowhere before being found.”

“We have allies though. Olenna Tyrell at Highgarden. Surely she would give us shelter whilst we plan our next move.”

“That’s exactly where Ustrina would expect us to go. Forgetting that the Turells would probably not risk standing against a woman who can burn a city to the ground in a matter of seconds, she’s probably already been told about all our allies by Bruda. She’ll be sending soldiers around to everyone one.” Tyrion’s point did make sense but it angered certain people.

“Bruda wouldn’t do that!” Melisandre shouted strongly, the first thing she’d said so far. 

“He’s the reason we’re in this mess so I wouldn’t put it past him to do this as well.”

“Be careful with your words, Lannister. I know that Bruda is a good man. We all know that. He made a mistake but would you have been able to stop a woman of her powers? Would anyone here?”

A silence descended on them as they thought about her point. Jorah held up his hands to calm them once again. “We can all agree that what Bruda did was wrong. He should have spoken to us, given us more of a warning. But the fact is that he warned us in the end, when he couldn’t stop her. That’s got to prove he’s still somewhat on our side. And there’s no point in arguing about it when we can’t do anything about it.”

“If we can’t go to any family that’s friendly towards us, then there’s one obvious option left for us,” Varys spoke. They looked at him curiously. “The last place they’d look is in the North.”

Daenerys laughed coldly. “Sansa Stark would have my head as soon as I step foot anywhere near her home.”

“For what end? Right now, you are of no threat to her. You can’t defeat her or stand in her way. You both have a common enemy right now. If anything can unite you, then it’s that. And she is the only one in the entire kingdom who has the strength to challenge Ustrina, if armies are to be of any consequence. It’s the best option. And the only one that I can see us surviving through.”

“It’s going to be one long fucking journey,” Bronn moaned.

“Then we’d best start walking,” Jorah responded.


	24. Night and Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruda does something for Daenerys as Jon gets a lesson in fate

The only time Bruda had been free from Ustrina’s constant watch came a few days later. The city was still in turmoil, peasants begging to learn what had happened and where their queen was. The sheer volume of letters they’d received when news had broken had nearly overwhelmed Marwyn, only managing with the warlock’s assistance. Everyone wanted to know the state of the Crown, some probably to see whether there was a chance for them to take it for their own. Yet Ustrina had been strangely quiet on that front, not appearing in public like Bruda had expected her to. He’d presumed she would want to gloat and parade her victory for all to see. But nothing of the sort had happened yet. The new queen was keeping to herself inside the Keep, not once venturing outside. There was no threat outside for her to deal with. No one dared approach the castle after tales came back of what happened to the first few that had come across her soldiers. She obviously felt that no outside force could match her. Bruda had to agree on that sentiment even if he didn't really want to. The only letters that had been sent out simply outlined that Daenerys was no longer the queen of the Seven Kingdoms but there was no mention of how that had happened. If he had to make a guess, he thought that she was focusing a lot more on what he did around the castle, which spoke of the mutual distrust between the two of them. It encouraged him slightly that she was still evidently worried about what he could do to her but it also infuriated him, since he wanted to get away from where she could monitor his every move. Whenever he turned a corner, there would always be a soldier or two lurking around, their eyes dead and passive. He shivered whenever he saw them, an unnatural cold emanating from them. But, as the day slowly disappeared and night reigned supreme, Bruda had finally been able to walk out of the Red Keep with no one following him.

He was nervous about leaving Marwyn alone undefended, knowing that Ustrina wasn’t someone to think twice about hurting another person. But something had been niggling at the back of his head, a question he had to answer for his own peace of mind. He was also doing this for Daenerys, who he knew would have wanted to make sure that they were still okay. Keeping to the shadows and out of the way of the small number of people still roaming the dark streets, Bruda made quick progress despite not having his staff by his side. Ustrina was unwilling to give it back to him; he was perfectly happy for her to keep it if it meant she thought he couldn’t produce any magic. It was always best to keep a lie going if it suited you. The city, which had once been so active at night (mostly more unsavory deals going down at that time), was practically dead as he ventured to the outskirts. He mentally chastised himself for the poor choice of words, hoping that calling the place ‘dead’ wasn’t an unfortunate premonition of the future it faced. Although it brought home the fact that everything had changed so quickly, Bruda was thankful for the quiet as it made it easier for him to complete his journey. 

The area surrounding the dragon pit was as deserted as the rest of the area he’d been through, which surprised him. He had expected at least some guards to be on look out, with how precious the creatures inside were. His heart sank as he feared that meant they were no longer inside. The stone walls looked no different from the renovations Daenerys had ordered, one of the first things she’d done as queen. Everything seemed perfectly normal, which did nothing to quell his concern. As he got closer, passing under a tall arch. It was dark, and he had to drag his hand against the wall to keep himself going in the right direction. As he emerged onto the edge of the sandpit, the moonlight pouring down from the sky illuminated the best sight he’d seen for a week. All four dragons were there, curled up as they slept. The steady rise and fall of their bodies made it clear that they were all breathing, which was a relief. The green tail of Rhaegal gently shifted across the ground. Hidbeyo was off to one side, hemmed in the corner due to its massive size. Viserion, its pale scales reflected in the darkness, appeared dwarfed next to it. As Bruda moved closer, the sound of his boot crunching against the sand immediately woke Drogon, the closer of the four. He was practically invisible in the night, his scales camouflaged in the blackness surrounding them. But his eyes glowed as he moved his head to inspect this intruder, recognising the warlock. 

Bruda reached out a comforting hand but, just before it came upon the skin of the dragon, he was stopped by an unseen force. He tried to push through the wall, a pattern like a red spider’s web shimmered into life where he stood, preventing him from getting any closer to the beast. It was as he’d expected. Ustrina had used her magic to keep them trapped in here, which explained why they hadn’t flown away through the open roof. A low rumble came deep from the back of Drogon’s mouth, a noise filled with pain and mourning. Bruda could easily tell how much pain and discomfort they were all in. They wanted to fly and spread their wings, to see their mother who had been forced to leave them behind. Bruda clenched his fist in anger. Here was another example of how he’d failed Daenerys. She would want to use every ounce of power at her disposal to help free them. He briefly wondered where she was right now, whether she was okay. He thought about whether they were all still together, whether Melisandre was safe and unharmed. His mind wandered to think about whether they still hated him, whether they would always hate him for his actions. He shook his head. Self pity would help no one right now. 

Drogon was still looking at him as if he expected the warlock to do something to help. For a second, Bruda considered trying to break the spell that was trapping them, even going as far as producing magical energy that whipped around the hand that was still pressed against the barrier. But he could tell that it was simply too strong and, at the moment, he was too weak to fight it. He was still recovering from his fight against Ustrina. The fact that he hadn’t regained all of his strength worried him greatly - it showed that he was aging more than he’d care to admit. 

“I’ll get you out of here eventually,” he whispered, wishing that the creature would somehow understand him. “I won’t allow you to stay in here for much longer. I promise.”

“Ustrina makes sure that they’re looked after,” a voice sounded behind him. Isabella, draped in a long brown cloak to fight off the cold, stepped out from where she’d been watching him from the shadows. “They’re fed regularly. They get as much food as they desire.”

Bruda was immediately put on edge in her presence, wanting to trust her but knowing that wasn’t a smart move to make. He wasn’t surprised to see her. It made sense and explained why he hadn’t come across any soldiers on his short journey. “But they belong in the sky! Not down here, crammed in a small space. A cage. A prison. There’s a difference between being kept alive and  _ living _ . I’ve been trying to tell  _ your  _ queen that for ages now but she can’t see that point.”

“She’s just as much your queen as she is mine,” came Isabella’s soft reply as she stepped further forward. “You knelt for her.”

“To save my life.”

“And I’m glad you made that choice. But she wouldn’t have killed you. She doesn’t want to cause needless death.”

Bruda chuckled. Her words brought home the fact that she wasn’t  _ his  _ Isabella. His wife would never have agreed with what the sorceress did. “You’re wrong there. She would have killed me and then brought me back to life under her control. That seems to be what she’s good at.” He sneered at the woman, trying not to focus on the hurt in her eyes. 

“I am not controlled by her. I have free will.”

He gave her an incredulous look. “She really has brainwashed you if you can say such rubbish like that. If you’re right in what you claim, then tell me why you’re here.”

Isabella hesitated, which told him all he needed to hear. “What do you want me to say? That I saw you sneaking out from the Keep and wanted to follow you so I could see you? That I want to spend time with you like we used to?”

“I want to hear the truth!” he shouted, making Drogon look up again in fascination. “I want you to tell me the actual reason why you’re here.”

“...Ustrina wanted to see what you would do if you were allowed to leave,” she reluctantly said. “She said that it’s one thing to observe your actions when you’re being watched but it’s an entirely other thing when you’re free to do what you want.”

“She wanted to know if I’d go running. To try and find Daenerys and the others.”

“Precisely.”

“And she sent you as what? A spy? The Isabella I knew wouldn’t blindly follow her orders like that.”

“I am the Isabella you knew!” she cried, tears clearly in her eyes. “Do you know how much it hurts when you say something like that? How much it makes my heart break to see that you don’t love me as much as you once did?”

Bruda stopped and looked at her. He kept reminding himself that this was probably some sort of trick. She was messing with him. Either she was or Ustrina was orchestrating it as usual. But, as the night sky continued to darken, all he could see was his wife standing there, needing to be comforted. Her head was bent downwards as she looked at the ground, allowing the tears to fall. She didn't see him approach or see him wrap his arms around her. She just felt the warmth it was imbued with. To Bruda, the hug felt achingly familiar and natural and it made him want to believe that it was possible for them to do this more. But the closer he got to her and the more he gave in to the fantasy, the more it would hurt when it was eventually taken away from him. That was Ustrina’s ultimate weapon. That was why she had sent Isabella and not one of her guards. She wanted Bruda to open his eyes and see how beneficial her actions could be. How life could still be normal even if he knew it shouldn’t be.

“I know none of this is any of your fault,” he said quietly as he rested his chin on top of her head. “I shouldn’t have taken out my anger on you and I hate myself for doing it. But look properly at what she’s doing here.” He made her look at the dragons, how sapped of energy they were. “The sooner you can see that she’s not perfect, the sooner I can make a stand.” He kissed the top of her head before walking away, back to the castle.

**********

After their long and arduous journey, they had at least expected to have been welcomed by Sansa herself. But, as they were allowed through the tall gates of Winterfell, the Queen of the North was nowhere to be seen. As Jon dismounted from his horse and helped Oslen from hers, handing their tired steeds to the young stable boy, he quickly picked up on the strange atmosphere. It was a lot different compared to the previous time he had been here, when he’d seen a rather sombre cloud hanging over the settlement. Back then, people had milled about slowly, trying to rebuild the world that had been mainly destroyed in the war. Back then, most of the people he’d come across, although they had been happy to have survived the Long Winter, they’d rarely graced him with sincere smiles. It was a stark contrast to what was before them now.

The courtyard was a hive of activity, young squires running about, carrying objects of varying sizes. Horses were being dragged from different areas, much to the annoyance of most of the animals. People from the camps nearby were visiting with any resources they’d either found or made. But what caught Jon’s attention the most was the amount of armour he could see being made and fitted. The sound of blacksmiths hidden away in the flaming alcoves rang out as they forged metal in fires. The rhythmic clanging gave a steady beat to the action going on. Jon shook his head, fearing what this meant. Had they arrived too late? Had Sansa taken the next, probably fatal, step in her feud with Daenerys? It was unmistakable what he was seeing now. This was the beginning of a war effort.

Jon was frantically looking around, trying to spot any recognisable faces in the busy crowd around them. Why hadn’t their approach warranted someone to meet them promptly? Were they all too busy planning their next strategies? The issue was that the war had killed many of the notable people in the region, leaving their heirs and descendants, most of whom Jon Snow simply didn't know. They all seemed so fresh-faced and...young. They had no experience of heading an army, if that was what was intended to happen. The more he looked, the more worried he became about their future. He was practically frozen to the ground, unable to move as he took it all in. He felt Oslen’s hand on his arm, bringing him back to reality. He glanced over at her, seeing how she could tell what he was thinking. There was a sense of understanding in her eyes, and a promise that she was going to stay by his side. 

It was as they shared their private moment that Maester Capaldi arrived. His long and gaunt face showed no sign of emotion as he greeted them, the only sign of expression being the occasional twitch of the silver goatee beard framing part of his face. His grey curls gently moved in the breeze as he explained that Lady Sansa had heard of their arrival and was anticipating their meeting in the hall of Winterfell. She had sent the maester as their welcoming party (there was very little that was welcoming about the old man). Jon rightly asked where she was, believing that, since she had requested his presence, the least she could do was meet them in person. Clearly irritated by the obstinance of the younger man but knowing that he couldn’t say anything out of turn to the leader of the Free Folk, the maester answered in clipped sentences that the situation had changed drastically since the letter had been sent. Before Jon could continue with his questions, Capaldi pressed on, saying that all would be explained by the Lady of Winterfell when they were together. Then he turned on his heel and walked away, obviously wanting them to follow. Jon was ready to use some more choice words (he was tempted to use some violence if necessary) towards the maester, but Oslen intervened, almost ordering him to put his ego aside and do as he was told for once. That had silenced him promptly.

Jon knew the way to the hall from memory but allowed himself to be led by the curmudgeonly maester (he consoled himself with the fact that he was making an effort for Oslen). The castle did seem different though, even if appearances hadn’t changed that much all together. A vibrancy had returned to his old home, if it had ever been that to him really. The old castle had seen a sustained period of dark times in the recent years so he took it as a positive sign that Sansa was doing something right. Two soldiers nodded their heads at him as they guarded the doors to the largest chamber. They pushed them open, revealing the mighty stone room. Flaming torches were lit along the walls and some light was able to cascade through the tall windows, making it appear less ominous than it usually did. Four rows of long wooden tables were set out for when they had feasts - Jon reckoned that they would have had few of those with resources still at a dangerously low level - but it was at the table set at the head of the room that people were sitting. As soon as they saw their entrance, Sansa stood up, looking magnificent in a slim-fitting black gown. Meera Reed and her father stood alongside her to be respectful, Lady Mormont doing the same although slightly more reluctantly. Lord Baelish was the only one who didn't move, a sly smirk on his face that Jon didn't want to know the reason for. 

“Jon,” Sansa said as she moved away from the table and towards her guests. Maester Capaldi silently took a seat at the table, still glowering. “It is so good to see you once again. I’m glad that you came quickly.” She eyed the woman by her side with a curious expression. “Are you going to introduce me to your...companion?”

Jon glanced at the wildling, wondering how best to describe her. “This is Olsen, my...friend and advisor. She kindly volunteered to join me on my journey to Winterfell. You won’t have to be told about how treacherous a trip that can be, especially when made alone.”

Oslen, trying not to laugh at the fact she’d been referred to as his  _ advisor _ , curtsied slightly in greeting, showing more etiquette than others from her community. “It’s a pleasure to be welcomed here, Lady Sansa.”

“The pleasure is all mine. It takes a special sort of person to make my brother like them,” Sansa replied with a smile.

“You seem in high spirits,” Jon noted. They could all tell that it was more a question of why that was the case. 

Sansa stared at him, looking into his eyes searchingly. “You don’t know, do you?” Her voice was soft and quiet, knowing how delicate she had to be. “No one has told you?”

“I can safely say that I have no idea about what you’re talking about.” He looked around the room, trying to gauge everyone else’s reactions. Oslen seemed as clueless as he was but he was sure that some at the table were fidgeting nervously.

Sansa took a step back, clasping her hands together. “Word came only a few days ago. Daenerys Targaryen no longer holds the Throne of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Jon’s heart sank and he had to reach out to Oslen for support. That couldn’t possibly be true. Sansa’s expression was neutral, probably down to the warring emotions going on underneath. She would be pleased at the news, almost ecstatic, but she was controlling her reaction out of sympathy for Jon. Thoughts were racing through his head as he worried about his friends’ fate. “How...is that possible? Who could have done this? What sort of an army could destroy hers?”

“The simple answer is that we don’t know,” Sansa answered truthfully. “We had nothing to do with it.”

“Did they give any proof to the claim? This could be some sort of...ploy.”

“We did think about that,” Baelish inputted. “But then reports came back from what the people had seen. Tales of a force greater than we’ve seen taking control of the city. No armies were present. This wasn’t a result of war.”

“What about Daenerys? Is she...dead?” He could barely bring himself to say the word. 

“Since the incident, there have been no sightings of Daenerys Targaryen or any of her council. Everything has gone quiet. We’re starting to believe that the stories we initially received were nothing more than exaggerations. Common people do tend to struggle with the complexities of reality.” Baelish purposefully looked at Oslen when he said that. She clenched her fists but did nothing more.

“The fact of the matter,” Sansa continued. “...is that, no matter whether the reports are accurate or true, the city has seemingly fallen silent. Daenerys would have refuted the claims if they were lies but, as we’ve said, she’s disappeared.”

“So...everyone we saw outside...getting ready for…” Jon already knew what was coming before Sansa said it.

“We’ve been presented with a golden and valuable opportunity here. Since the news first came, we’ve been preparing. This is the best chance we’re going to get to take the capital and claim what we are owed.”

**********

The rest of the day had seemed to pass in a blur for Jon. Sansa had continued to sprout her ideas and convictions as if she had been practicing on how to deliver her propaganda. After a short while, it had grown to be too much for him, forcing him to leave before he said something he shouldn’t in front of the others. He had stormed from the hall, seething and upset. He had barged past Oslen, not that this was any of her fault. She understood that he needed to be left alone for the time being so that he could process what was happening. He just couldn’t understand how blind his sister was being. It was inconceivable to him that anything was worth dragging the kingdom back into blood and war so soon after it had just about managed to escape from the last time. It hurt to see that Sansa was willing to sacrifice the progress they’d made for some selfish ideals she’d gotten into her head. 

He found his old room and slammed the door shut, sitting on the bed and putting his head in his hands. He should have just stayed out of it like he had originally planned. He was angry at himself for being coaxed back so easily. But then he began to wonder how long it would have been until he found out about Daenerys’ fate if he had remained north of the Wall. Would it have been years, eventually discovering that his friends had perished? He could picture them all now, good people, who had fought and saved the Kingdom. The idea that they could all be dead...it didn't seem feasible. Daenerys had one of the largest armies ever amassed in history, dragons that could decimate any foe, as well as magic on her side. Surely that had to be enough to survive. Yet, the notion of some dark and terrible force sweeping over the city was sadly not a difficult one to imagine after all he had seen. If they spoke the truth, and King’s Landing had succumbed to something like that...then Sansa leading her people there was exactly the worst idea he had ever heard. And he had heard quite a few terrible proposals over his lifetime.

What stung the most was the glee she hadn’t been able to hide. Sure, she had  _ tried _ to mask it from him in an effort to comfort and console him. She had to, otherwise he would have left a lot earlier than he did. But the happiness seeped through regardless of her efforts. It was in her voice, the way she spoke. It was in the way her eyes seemed to sparkle, a new gleam that he hadn’t seen before. She truly felt that this was the best thing to have happened, that it was a sign that Fate itself was on her side. After all they had done to help. She wouldn’t be alive if it hadn’t been for them. He hoped that they weren’t dead only so she would be made to look them in the eye and say those hidden thoughts out loud. Maybe then she would see how much of a monster she had become. He kept telling himself that it was down to the people she kept around her. He didn't trust Baelish but he doubted that anyone in the Realm did. Yet...what he had seen of her in the hall...it was becoming difficult to convince himself that Sansa had simply been manipulated. 

He didn't know how long he had sat on that bed for but it must have been quite some time. Where there had been light shining through earlier, now only darkness filtered through the windows, matching his mood and demeanour. They must have had their meals by now. Jon had half expected someone to be sent to call for him but, thankfully, Sansa must have seen sense and thought better of it. The one person he may have considered seeing was Oslen but even she hadn’t turned up. He didn't blame her. The more he thought back on it, the more he regretted his actions. Not the storming out part, that had been a smart choice. But leaving her alone with the rest of them hadn’t been. He hoped she had been able to get out of there before they started asking her questions but then he had no clue where she would have gone. He kept forgetting that this was a new world for her.

A knock came at the door, forcing him to return back to reality. He presumed it would be the woman he had just been thinking about but, as he opened the door, he quickly came to wish that he first asked who it was. Sansa, still in the same black dress as before, greeted him with a small smile. He noticed that she was clutching a small, worn book to her chest and, for a moment, he wondered what it was about. That was before he thought back on the day’s earlier events and he stepped away, leaving the door open for her to come in though. She took the silent invite but said nothing, waiting for him to make the first move. She thought that would be best with how he had reacted before.

He didn't turn around when he spoke, instead keeping his eyes trained on the outside world through the window, despite the fact that it was difficult to see anything of note at the late hour. “How did you know where I was?”

“Where else would you have gone? The Godswood maybe but this seemed like the more logical...destination.”

“So you do know what logic is then.” The anger was evident in his tone, laced in every word he spoke.

Sansa frowned, moving further into the room. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

This time, he did turn around, eyes glaring at the young woman. She couldn’t help but take a step back when she saw the fury blazing away in his gaze. “You’re not thinking at all. What you were saying before...it was nonsensical!” He ran a hand over his chin in exasperation, shaking his head at the sheer stupidity of it all.

Sansa scoffed, recovering from her momentary fright. “I thought you were a good fighter and soldier, a true leader. But if you can’t see how good a military opportunity this is, then I’ll have to reconsider my views about you.”

“Military...opportunities?” he shouted, taking a menacing step forwards. “Have you heard yourself? That isn’t how you speak. You’ve been corrupted by those people you keep by your side.”

“I’ve had to learn since you chose to leave me. If it was down to me, I wouldn’t have to know about planning battles or sieges. I could have left you in charge of that but, instead, I was forced to adapt and grow. So don’t stand there and look shocked that I’ve changed when it was you who forced me to.”

“Don’t pin any of the blame on me. Maybe I should have been here, just so that I could have talked you out of this ridiculous idea. You are going into this blind if you march down to the South. You have no idea what happened down there and you’re putting everyone at risk.”

“Risks have to be taken sometimes to give yourself the best chance possible of winning.”

“You hardly have a passable army. You barely have enough food and resources to sustain the sort of campaign you’re proposing. And what if this is all just a trick? Someone employed by Daenerys could have sent that letter, making you believe that you could do this. You’ll arrive at the gates of King’s Landing and face an ambush. And that’s if you’re lucky. Because it could end up being that you face one of her dragons instead.”

“That’s just what you’d want, isn’t it? You want her to be alive! You’re still under her spell as you have been since the first time you laid eyes on her.”

“We should all pray that she’s still alive because she’s the only one who can keep this Kingdom together! There’s no need to compete against her. If she is in trouble or danger, then look at it as an opportunity to help her, not rub salt in her wounds.”

“Why would I help her when she won’t even consider giving me what I want?” Sansa asked scornfully, not seeing any sense in what he was putting forward.

“You sound like a petulant child,” he shot with venom. “You said you’ve changed but maybe you need to change some more if you’re still acting like this.”

“Since we’re in private, I’ll let that comment slide but I’ll remind you that you’re talking to the Lady of Winterfell, not just your younger sister.”

“Are you threatening me?” He was standing right in front of her, a challenge in his voice. 

She looked up at him, not caring about the difference in their heights. “If that’s what it takes to make you see sense, then yes.”

He was surprised by how strong she sounded, how defiant she was. He would have been proud if she had been using it for a better cause. “You go on about Daenerys not giving in to your demands but what you’re planning...this is more than just claiming what you think you’re owed. You want to take the Throne for yourself.”

Sansa shook her head. “No. Not for me. I’ve learnt that that is not the role I play.”

“What are you talking about?” His confusion was only made worse when she handed him the book she was holding. He turned it over in his hands, looking at its bland black leather cover. “What’s this?”

“The last thing that Bran Stark ever wrote.” She hid her smirk when she saw him look at her with wide eyes. “Some of my people found it in the library. It was addressed to me. But the contents...well, the contents mainly concern you.”

“Can you please stop talking in riddles? You’re beginning to sound like he did after he...changed. And, whatever this says, is there any reason for us to consider it after what he did?”

“He covers that point but it’s not important. He does give evidence to support the claims he makes and I’m sure you’ll want to see that.”

“Why have you given me this?” He had a strange feeling of nervousness wash over him. Anything related to his dead brother had that effect on him.

“I want you to read it. Inside, he told me that it was never my fate to end up on the Throne. At first, I have to say, I was disappointed but I then continued reading. It’s not my fate because it’s  _ yours.  _ You are destined to claim the throne and be the King of the Seven Kingdoms. Aegon Targaryen.”


	25. Doubts and Rights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon learns of his new heritage but it's down to him whether he'll accept it

They had been making steady but slow progress for a number of days now. When you were travelling in a group the size of theirs, it was difficult to go fast and not be noticed. The consensus they had reached early on was that it was better to sacrifice a few days in their journey time so that they could be safer. Or as safe as one could be in the kingdom. They hadn’t run into too much trouble so far, barring the occasional nosy traveller heading in the opposite direction. Bronn had suggested the idea that they kill anyone who they suspected of knowing their actual identities, just to be ‘on the safe side’, as he put it. Tyrion had immediately countered that argument, believing that very few people would be going to King’s Landing anyway so there was no need to get pointless blood on their hands. Varys had concurred with him and that had been the end of it.

As Davos had put forward soon after they’d escaped from the Red Keep and Ustrina’s clutches, they had stopped off at an inn. Not the first one they’d seen, wanting to get a sufficient distance away from the capital before they paused their journey. There had been plenty of traders there, as they’d expected, so it hadn’t been too hard to find a cart and several horses to accommodate them all. The only issue had been trying to convince the owner to part with his own means of transportation, along with the pointed questions he had started to ask. A quick show of the money they were going to give him had put an end to his concerns though.

They hadn’t wanted to flaunt the coin they had since it put them at risk of getting some unwanted attention, making them a profitable target for any courageous fellon. They were also well aware of the fact that they had very little, or not as much as they would have liked to have. But it had been necessary to spend some more to garner less distinctive clothing, although the women’s dresses had covered a large portion of the cost. Daenerys, who had stayed well away from the building as the deals took place due to her rather distinctive and memorable features, felt that they barely resembled the people who had fled for their lives. Instead of the luxurious feel of silk and satin on her skin, all she could feel now was the rough itch of a woolen top and black pants. She realised that she hadn’t dressed in such a way since her first time with the Dothraki and it brought back unpleasant memories of Drogo’s spirit. The other women were dressed in similar outfits, made to look as masculine as possible (there were very few female travellers on the King’s Road so a group of four would have been extremely noticeable). Melisandre had struggled the most to let go of her red dress, seeing it as the final loss of the woman she had once been. She was, for definite, no longer the Red Woman.

They took it in turns with who got to sit in the cart and who had to ride on top of a horse seeing as it was going to be such a long distance they were covering. At first, Shireen had been told that she would always be in the cart but had argued strongly against that. Davos had sensed that she also  _ wanted _ to ride a horse for an element of adventure. She was, however, currently in the cart with Missandei, Varys and Gendry. Bronn was controlling the cart from on top of his horse, the others flanking them. Jorah liked to keep the wooden wagon covered as it was the most vulnerable part of their arrangement. Even when the road was quiet, he rode with one hand never far from his sword.

A strange silence had settled on the group, the only noise being the hooves of their horses in the muddy tracks and the rhythmic clicking of the carts wheels. They were finding it difficult to have light conversations, the sombre reality of their situation weighing down heavily upon them. Daenerys and Jorah had fallen slightly back, keeping their steeds at a steady trot. She had the hood of the grey cloak she was wearing over her head to cover her hair. She was beginning to grow tired of it but he had insisted. They were taking no chances until they found sanctuary. 

Daenerys looked over at her knight. The man she was meant to marry. That notion seemed a million miles away, becoming more distant the further they got from King’s Landing. To think, their last conversation before fleeing had been on that topic. It made it startlingly clear how much their lives had changed in such a short space of time. Whenever she thought about it, a deep, overwhelming sadness tended to consume her. One she reckoned was plaguing the others too.

“Could you have ever imagined that this would happen to us?” she asked softly. “We had achieved everything we had ever desired, years of effort and pain becoming worthless in a day.”

He seemed surprised that she was actually talking. Daenerys had been the quietest out of all of them since they’d left the inn. “If you’re asking whether I could have foreseen a woman with magical powers taking over the city...then no.”

It was the sort of comment that would have made her laugh no more than a week ago. Now, not even a smile flickered on her face. Her lips had been set in a thin line for a number of days, growing to be her permanent expression. “Why do we continue? Why do we carry on travelling in the vain hope that Sansa Stark will take pity on us? Why do we still believe that we can regain the life we had? It’s gone. Forever.”

Jorah gave her a stern look as he rode. “You have never been one to give up so easily, Khaleesi.”

This time, she did laugh but it was cold and mirthless. Hollow. “I have lost everything. I think it’s acceptable for me to have lost hope. If any situation warrants such a reaction, this is it.”

“You still have people devoted to you. You have people here who would do anything for you. People who you value and respect. That used to be enough for you.”

Daenerys had a scowl on her face. “What are you trying to say? That I’ve changed for the worse?”

“No,” he was quick to disagree. “I’m saying that you need to look back on where you have come from. You have faced worse odds before, which is why I’m surprised at how you’re acting. This isn’t how a queen acts in the face of adversity.” He knew he was taking a risk with what he was saying - anyone else and she may have sent them away for their insolence. He had struck a nerve though, he could see that. Her gaze lowered to the ground, realising that he had a point.

“Maybe this is a sign that I shouldn’t be queen,” she muttered despondently.

That made him angry. “If you say that again, I’ll tell the others to turn around and head back because I wouldn’t want them to waste their time for someone who thinks like that. I haven’t devoted my life to you just to see you act like this. I once said that you were truly something special and I still believe that. But carry on and maybe I’ll have to change my mind.”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m perfectly thrilled about what’s happened? That we’re lucky?”

“Of course not. I want you to own the position we’re in. Accept it. Moping around doesn’t help anyone. Especially you. If you lose faith, then Ustrina has won before the battle truly begins.”

“Hasn’t she already won?”

“Not whilst you’re still alive. She’ll never win if you continue to believe that you can beat her.” Jorah let out a sigh as he saw her nod her head. “After Khal Drogo died, do you remember that journey we had to take across the Great Dothraki Sea? Before we found the city of Qarth? You were ready to lose hope then but you pressed on, and then look what happened.”

“I almost lost my dragons and was betrayed by a close friend.”

He grimaced. “Maybe it wasn’t the best of examples.” He was delighted when he saw her smirk. “But the point still stands. If you can push on then...you are a much greater woman than what you were back then. Which means that you’ve got an even better chance of succeeding this time.”

“Do you...do you think that he’s okay?”

Even without naming him, Jorah knew who Daenerys was talking about. “Do you want him to be okay?”

“Of course I do!” she exclaimed with a scandalised look. “He’s my friend. The closest friend I have. How could I hate him? Hate is too strong an emotion to waste on someone you don’t like. I want him to be safe.”

“Bruda can handle himself.”

“He didn't against Ustrina. That’s why we’re in this position after all.”

“Even so...he’s a wily old man. Who has a knack of surviving. I’m sure he will be fine. Unless he opens his mouth too much.”

“And you’re going to say that the only way I have of ensuring his safety is continuing with this plan,” she reasoned.

Jorah smiled as he spoke. “It’s like you can read my mind.”

**********

The room was swamped in silence as the two of them stood there, not talking. Jon had lost the ability to talk as he read the dumbfounding words on every page, his fears growing worse as he read every sentence. His hands were shaking and he didn't know how he hadn’t dropped the book yet. Sansa was waiting to talk, not wanting to interrupt him as he took it all in. It had taken a good deal of time for her to accept what Bran had written so she had no idea how long it would take for Jon. As she watched him absorb the information, he didn't look like her older brother or the ruler of the wildlings. He didn't look like the deadly swordsman he had grown to become or the brave soldier that had fought too many battles for his age. Jon appeared to shrink in front of her, resembling more the young man he truly was. He had been thrust into a series of difficult positions when he had never asked to be, somehow getting through it all. But now he was being hit with this revelation, one that changed the entire outlook he had on his life. Eddard Stark had vowed to tell him about his parents once he returned from King’s Landing. But that never happened, the secret dying with him as the sword was swung. Until now. But could he trust Bran or, more accurately, the creature he had become? The young boy he had been a part of killing?

Jon looked up from the book and stared with vacant eyes at Sansa. She didn't smile or change her expression in any way. She was as emotionless as he was, wanting to see how he reacted. Everything she had planned hinged on this moment going well and the chances of that actually happening were slim. Even more so if she slipped up. Sansa risked taking a step closer to him but, as soon as she moved, Jon moved as well, keeping a cavernous distance between them. He didn't know how he was supposed to act around her now. If this was true, which he still couldn’t believe, then she wasn’t his sister. Although that had been made clear by Catelyn Stark throughout his early childhood, they had grown to adopt that relationship when they were reunited. But why was this coming to light now? Bran had died, they had all moved on. Everything had been peaceful but she had found this book, searched for it probably. Had she been looking for something like this, to work to her advantage? Was it just another stage in the game she was playing? It all seemed too...convenient, especially with what had supposedly happened to Daenerys. As Jon looked at her, he wondered whether there was anything else she wasn’t telling him. He was tired of the secrets. His life had been ruled by lies and tight lips and he wanted that to change more than anything else. 

He chucked the book down on the table closest to him, the loud bang shattering the silence. Even the outside world had seemed to grow still to them. The courtyard, although full with people moving about, was forgotten to them. Right now, the world was just Jon Snow and Sansa Stark, standing in that dark room, facing the consequences of what they’d unearthed. 

“How...how did you find this?” he eventually mumbled, running a hand through his shaggy black hair.

Sansa was surprised that that was his first question. She knew that she would have had a number of different concerns if she was in his position. She didn't see the harm in answering him. “It was in the library. The maester, he found it there with an older tome. The only reason that he spotted it was because of how new it appeared. I believe Bran intended for that to happen.”

“But...why was he searching there in the first place?” Jon was looking at the floor, not her. His voice was growing angry.

Sansa’s eyebrows scrunched together. “I don’t know what you mean. He’s a maester. They spend their lives in libraries.”

“It just seems too much of a convenience, all of this. He wouldn’t just stumble upon it unless he was  _ looking _ for something similar. What were you planning, Sansa?”

She hesitated but knew that the truth would be a good enough explanation to settle his concerns. “When we were planning to face Daenerys, we believed that the only way we were to have any chance of winning was with you on our side. Along with the promises we made you, I wanted a search of the library done, to find records about our family. To show you what you had to fight for.”

“So it comes down to you trying to use me! Again! If that’s the case, then how can I believe that this is real? From where I’m standing, it looks awfully like you’ve created this myth to trick me, so I join your side.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” she implored. “I wouldn’t lie to you in such a way. This is real. It shocked us all when we discovered it, even if it took us a while to piece it all together. But, with Bran’s guidance, we were able to complete your story.”

“Then explain it to me. What does this mean for me?”

She had moved closer to him and this, this time, he hadn’t shifted further away. Sansa took that as a good sign. “The first thing Bran recorded was a vision he had. Eddard Stark, finding Lyana Stark alone after giving birth, dying. If Robert Baratheon ever found out, the child would have been killed. So my father promised to never tell anyone, even his wife. He raised that child as his own, feeding it a lie to keep it safe. You were that child, Jon.”

He gripped the bed post with such strength that his knuckles turned white. “So...I actually am part Stark. That misery I went through, the shame I was put through...it was for nothing.”

Sansa placed a hand on his arm, seeing him close his eyes to hide away the tears that were on the edge of falling. “I’m sorry, Jon, but there’s more. The story was that Rhaegor Targaryen kidnapped Lyanna, probably raping her. But Bran told us to look closer and that’s where the accompanying tome came in. Again, it was the maester who spotted it. A throwaway line. Rhaegor, in fact, annulled his marriage to Elia Martell so that he could be with Lyanna. They loved one another, Jon.”

“The fact that their relationship was a happy one doesn’t change anything for me.”

“It changes  _ everything _ . The final vision of Bran Stark confirmed it. The annulment meant that you were a legitimate child, not a bastard. You’re his heir and, therefore, the one person who should be on the Throne.”

It had been written down in front of him but hearing Sansa say it brought it home. He shifted away from her touch, balling his hands up into tight fists. “No.”

Sansa frowned, thinking that she hadn’t heard him properly. “What do you mean, no?”

“I don’t want that. I don’t care that I’m legitimate. I don’t care that I know about my true family now. I don’t want to be king and this doesn’t change that fact.”

“But, Jon...you’re the one true king. Daenerys should never have got to it first. It’s yours by right of birth.”

“Then it’s also my right to give it up,” he shot back heatedly.

“You can’t.” Sansa shook her head in disbelief. “This isn’t a matter of what you  _ want _ . This is down to what the Realm needs and what it needs is you.”

He took a menacing step towards her. She hated to admit that she was scared of him. “Stop lying to me. Don’t give me any shit about what the Realm needs. This is all about you and what you want. You want Daenerys gone and this is the only way to achieve that.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions rather easily,” she argued, not backing down. “From all accounts, Daenerys is already gone so this has nothing to do with her.”

“And when she returns? I’ll make sure that she gets her throne back.”

“It is not hers!” she shouted.

“I say it is. She’s the one who wants it and she hasn’t done anything wrong to take it away from her. She has a blood right to it, maybe behind me in the lineage but that doesn’t matter. Kings can give up the Crown and pass it on. That’s what I’ll do.”

She could feel all of her hopes slipping through her fingers. “You’d be letting down the North if you made that choice.”

“Haven’t I done enough for the North?” he yelled. “This was never my home. I made my home with the Free Folk, they are my people! The fact that this place is still standing is partly down to me so don’t you dare try and guilt me into agreeing with you on this. All you want is for me to be a tool, to do your bidding, to be at your command. Sansa, you want this to be true and for me to accept it because you think you’d then get the independence you’ve been fighting for.”

“Is that such a bad thing? Is independence something you’re against?”

“The North would shrivel up and die without the help it gets from the Throne. But you’re blind. You think you can keep it all together by yourself. But...let me tell you something. You can’t.” Jon walked towards the door, wanting to get away from the room and what it contained. 

Sansa had her back to him, trying to ignore the pain in her chest at what he’d said. What he truly believed and thought of her. “If you try and keep this a secret, I will tell everyone.” Her voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper, but it made him stop.

“Excuse me?”

“I will tell my people the truth. Once everyone knows, they would never see Daenerys as the true ruler. They would want you there instead. You’d save her reign only to see it crumble once again.”

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“If it will work, then yes.”

“Do it, then. The people can think what they want. If I ever see her again, I’ll bend the knee and be done with this nonsense. And I’ll tell her that you orchestrated all of this. Then we’ll see how brave and confident you are when one of her dragons is towering over you.” With that, he slammed the door closed and stormed away, leaving Sansa alone as her world collapsed around her.

**********

The first time that any outsider visited the Red Keep came weeks after Ustrina had taken control. It had been surprisingly quiet on that front, probably due to the fear that had been created in the public consciousness by her actions. Bruda was in his room, the only place of solitude he had remaining, although he was constantly worried that Isabella would appear at any moment. He despised being reduced to such a state of fear but there was nothing he could do about it. Because he despised just as much the feeling of pain he got from hurting his wife when he voiced his concerns about her. They hadn’t spoken since their meeting at the dragon pits, which had been a small blessing. Bruda knew that it wouldn’t last. Nothing good ever lasted, he’d come to accept. It wasn’t particularly the message he wanted to carry around with him but his recent experiences had cemented that mindset. He had presumed he was being proven right when Marwyn had hurriedly stormed in through the door. The old maester had been bent over in exhaustion, his hands on his knees as he tried to recover. Seeing the state he was in, Bruda had stood up and supported him, wanting to speed his recovery up so he could find out what had prompted him to come running. Eventually, after making a glass of water appear to quench Marwyn’s first, the warlock had been able to make out that some noble man had ordered access to the Keep to speak to the ‘pretender on the throne’. It had all the ingredients for a disastrous encounter, especially since it seemed Ustrina had allowed him entry, so Bruda had started running as well. 

He had run through the castle corridors like he had done many times. He would get strange looks from the soldiers he passed but he guessed that was what they always looked like now they were under the spell of the new queen. Bruda knew that he needed to get to the throne room before she did anything. Depending on who this man was, if she decided to kill him in cold blood, the repercussions would permeate across the entire kingdom. He had hoped that this would be contained for longer (it had been a miracle that no one had come before, he admitted). For now, Bruda saw it as his job to guide her as best he could. That was if she even listened to him. It was worth a try at least.

The guards at the large entrance doors didn't even flinch or attempt to stop him as he barged past them. The doors swung open, banging against the stone walls. The first thing he did was take in the scene. Ustrina was sitting upon her throne, black, twisted crown on her head. A man with a large brown beard but no hair was the only other person inside. He was stocky and tall, the sort of person Bruda would avoid getting into a fight with if he had no powers. The two of them looked at him, Ustrina with an arched eyebrow, the visitor in confused annoyance. Bruda realised that the journey had brought out a sheen of sweat on his brow and he wiped it away as he regained his composure. At least the man wasn’t dead yet. He was finding that he was being forced into taking large chunks of solace out of small blessings like that.

“Bruda,” Ustrina remarked, still not getting up from the throne. “It’s nice of you to join us. I was wondering when you might pop by.” Her smile only served to confuse him more as he scrunched his eyebrows together. “Ser Kertwhistle, please excuse the abrupt nature of his arrival. Bruda may be my chief advisor but he still struggles with his...manners and etiquette, shall we put it?”

Kertwhistle nodded his head in Bruda’s direction but didn't smile; the warlock copied the action absentmindedly. He was more focused on Ustrina. She was seemingly being pleasant, which didn't make sense. He thought back on his first meeting with her and remembered how much he had liked her then. It was an act she was putting on, another element of her powers, no doubt.  _ Chief advisor _ was a strange and unexpected development though. Hopefully that meant she wanted to keep him around for a bit longer.

Ustrina continued talking as neither man spoke. “Bruda, Ser Kertwhistle has graced us with his presence because he has some concerns about how I came about claiming the throne. I thought it was only right that, after such a long journey, I gave him an explanation.”

“In truth... _ your Grace _ ,” Kertwhistle spoke, “Most of the smaller noble families where my house lies share the same fears that I do. No news has come since the stories started spreading, after it was said Queen Daenerys had fallen.” The man had a gruff voice but spoke eloquently, showing the education he’d had. He was understandably uncertain about referring to her with a title.

The queen smiled again. “And...do you see yourself as a representative of these families?”

Kertwhistle seemed flummoxed by the question. “I was elected as spokesperson, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Well then, if so many people are unsure about me, then it’s my duty to enlighten you. What would you like to know?”

Bruda was unsure as to why she was being so...helpful. He eyed the visitor uneasily, still waiting for something to go wrong. Kertwhistle, on the other hand, was happy to voice his concerns. “What happened to our queen? With as much respect as I can give, Queen Daenerys was a good and kind ruler from what we’ve seen. She removed the tyranny of the Lannisters for us all. Why was she removed?”

“Simply because I wanted the throne. I know that’s not the answer you wanted but it’s the only answer I can give. Daenerys Targaryen deservingly became ruler but she didn't have the power to stop me.”

“And what right do you have to the throne? What is your family?”

For a second, Bruda could see her smile flicker before Ustrina controlled her expression. “I have no family. As you can probably tell from my accent, I am not from Westeros.”

Kertwhistle appeared to be losing his patience. “If that’s the case, I’ll ask again. What right do you have to be sitting there, ruling over us? Because, right now, I’m seeing every reason for me to incite every family in the kingdom to stand against you. With respect.”

To be fair to Ustrina, she didn't show any reaction to his comment. “Of course. It’s perfectly understandable for you to be confused and I’ll forgive you for your harsh words. I know you don’t really mean them.” She stood from her throne, smirking at how Bruda tensed up when she moved. “Tell me, ser...have you recently lost any family?”

Kertwhistle looked at the floor. “My youngest son. Came down with a quick illness. It has been spreading rapidly across the village. Painless but...deadly.”

Ustrina was standing in front of him now, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss. You ask why I deserve the Crown. I’m here to remove that pain you’re suffering.”

He tilted his head to look her in the eyes, not understanding what she meant. “How could you possibly do that?”

It was the invitation she had been waiting for. Taking a step back, her hands blared red. The banners along the wall billowed in a wind that wasn’t there. The windows were blacked out, shrouding the chamber in a momentary darkness. Bruda produced a light of his own in response so he could keep his eye on her but there was no need. Soon after it had begun, the light returned and the wind disappeared. It had all been part of a show. Kertwhistle had scrambled away from her in fear, now sitting up on the cold stone floor. He pointed a shaking finger at her.

“Sorceress!” he bellowed.

Ustrina rolled her eyes. “Warlock, please. It sounds more respectful. My right to this throne courses through my body. My magic won me the Crown and, with it, I can do a lot of good. Your son, taken far too soon in his life, could walk again if you embraced my rule. Imagine how joyous an occasion that would be. I don’t want to hurt any of you. No one was harmed in my taking of the Throne, make sure that is included in your message when you return to your people.” Ustrina crouched in front of him, helping him stand. “But you’ve seen what powers I possess so I won’t have to tell you that, if you do incite other families against me, as you put it before, I’ll be forced to use them to stop you. And that would hurt me just as much as it would you. Have we reached an understanding?”

Kertwhistle, constantly glancing at her tight grip on his arm, nodded his head fearfully. If Bruda hadn’t been so disgusted by her, he might have been impressed by how she had reduced such an imposing figure to a bumbling wreck so easily. Ustrina smiled and let him go. As soon as she did so, he scampered away, heading straight for the doors. 

When they closed again, Bruda turned to her with an angry expression. “That was a foolish thing to do.”

Ustrina seemed to care very little as she began to walk away, Bruda following closely behind. “How so? I can’t rule properly if people don’t know who I am. Now, he will run away, back home, and all he will talk about is how scared he is of me.”

“And once people know about your powers, you’ll face an army against you.”

“Do you fear for me, warlock? Are you finally sharing some affection with me?”

“Not in the slightest. I’m worried about that army and what you’ll do to it when it eventually arrives.”

Ustrina sighed. “I have shown him what benefits I can bring. It’s all down to him with what he tells them all. If he makes them stand against me, which I sincerely doubt, then I’ll have to deal with them with as much force as necessary. But that won’t be my fault.” She left Bruda in the throne room, standing alone. As thoughts rolled around in his head, it was if the windows had been blacked out again, this time an internal darkness forming a cloud around him.


	26. Hope and Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has to learn to accept his lineage but ghosts from his past return to haunt him

Daenerys woke up with a start, sitting up sharply. Her forehead was covered in a cold sweat as she brought her hand to it. Shakily, she looked around but the darkness of her surroundings meant that it was impossible to see anything. They had stopped for the night, she remembered as some sense returned to her. They had set up a small camp in a clearing in a large forest, providing shelter against any rain that came. She could just make out the noise of the horses tied up against a tree. Her eyes were slowly getting used to the lack of light and she could make out shapes on the ground around her - the others sleeping. For most of them, she didn't need to see them to know that they were there; the snores coming from Tyrion should have woken up the entirety of the forest. They were all covered in any spare clothes they had to try and keep warm, the fire that had been built only a flicker of dying embers now. She knew that Jorah was closest to her, having fallen asleep in his arms as she had grown used to, although she had somehow moved a couple of feet away in her sleep. 

Daenerys couldn’t put it down to the cold that had woken her up in such a fright. Her mind had been plagued with images of Drogo as she slept once again. Her last meeting with him, if it truly was him, kept replaying over and over again. Each time, his words would become fiercer, his touch would become harder. Every time she dreamt of it, Daenerys swore that she could see more anger in his eyes, more pain. There was a need for vengeance in his expression and she knew how that would be accomplished. In her head, when she tried to run away from him, unlike when she succeeded in real life, the door would be closed and locked and Khal Drogo would take his time in approaching her. She always woke up before anything happened, the pain becoming too much as soon as he got to her. It didn't mean she couldn’t feel any of it; the lasting effects were still pricking her body. Despite having lived through it and surviving the encounter, it was becoming increasingly hard not to think that maybe he had got to her. Was the throbbing in her heart down to the fact that he had claimed it for his own, like it had once been his all those years ago? Her thoughts didn't make sense but no part of her life ever had. 

She pushed herself up against a tree, using it to support her aching back. Daenerys knew from experience that sleep wouldn’t be returning to her for a while now. She wondered whether this was her life now, forever being a victim to these imaginations. She guessed that was down to whether Ustrina survived for long, which was, in part, down to whether Bruda could produce another miracle to save them yet again. Shaking her head, Daenerys knew that she was placing too much reliance and pressure on the old warlock. This time, it would take more than just his efforts to win the war. Maybe the only comfort she could take from being awoken was the fact that it gave her time to think of ways they could help him to succeed. Sadly, she just had very little expertise in the matter. 

Having presumed that everyone was asleep, Daenerys was disturbed from her quiet solitude by an approaching figure. For a second, she was on high alert, ready to shout for help in case it was someone trying to steal from them...or worse. Yet, when she realised that it was Melisandre who had spotted she was awake, her nerves were calmed somewhat. If the other woman had been wearing her red dress, it might have been possible to spot her in the inky pitch blackness. But she had been camouflaged in the night due to the plain clothing she had on, matching the others. Melisandre looked at her curiously before lowering herself to the floor next to Daenerys. It was one of the rare times they had been alone together and the younger woman didn't really know how to act.

Melisandre didn't say anything for a few moments, looking up through the canopy of the trees to watch the slowly moving stars. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? A perfect night sky. I could watch it roll on forever.”

Surprised by the topic of conversation she had started, Daenerys followed her eye line and smiled softly. “I used to spend a lot of time at night, standing on the balcony and simply staring at the stars. Wondering what they all meant, if they mean anything.” She glanced at her companion. “Bruda has caught me doing it on a few occasions. If I knew any better, I’d reckon he was waiting around for me to do it.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“He once told me that he believed the stars are what people become when they die. I like to think that he’s right in saying that. It’s...almost comforting.”

Despite the darkness, Daenerys could see that Melisandre was smiling at the comment, although there was a twinge of sadness conveyed in it. It shouldn’t have been a surprise - sometimes Daenerys forgot how close they had grown together. “He was always coming out with poetic statements like that. He said it was down to his old age and how wise he had become.”

“Showing how modest he was. Is. Sorry...sometimes I forget that he’s still probably alive, back at King’s Landing. It feels strange to not have him by my side all the time.”

Melisandre didn't respond, instead continuing to look up at the sky. A single tear built up in the corner of her eye, reflected in the moonlight. “I was surprised to see that you were awake. That’s why I came over. Is there a reason for that?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Daenerys answered evasively, not wanting to go into any of the details.

“It was my turn to be the watch for the camp. We can’t be too careful. Now...why were you avoiding my question?”

This time, it was Daenerys who didn't respond straight away. Melisandre looked at her sympathetically and stood up, extending a hand. Daenerys looked at it questioningly. “Come on. I’m sure you need to talk about this and I don’t think the others will want to be woken up by us.” She wasn’t made to wait long for an agreement and she led Daenerys away from the camp, eventually settling for a spot that would do the job. She closed her eyes and clicked her fingers, a small fire instantly appearing on top of a pile of leaves, finally giving them some light. Melisandre’s features were framed by the golden flickers as she tended to it, whilst Daenerys looked at it in fascination. She still had lingering doubts about magic after what Ustrina had done but she knew that she could trust Melisandre. 

“You seem to be getting a good control over your powers. Bruda would be proud,” she remarked. 

Melisandre looked up from her crouching, trying and failing to hide her look of pride. “Ever since the attack, they’ve come into their own. I guess all it needed was a large jolt to the system. I think Bruda could tell when he saw me, which is why he made me come with you. He knows that I can protect you if I have to.”

“He’d want you to protect all of us, not just me.”

“I know that. And I’ll try my best to do that. But you know just as much as I do that his main concern is your safety.” Melisandre watched Daenerys as she silently approached the fire, sitting down by it. They were both making use of the much needed heat it was giving off, holding their hands up to the flame. “So...do you want to tell me why you were awake?”

Daenerys looked at the ground as she messed with her hands. “I couldn’t sleep. Every time I do, I see Drogo wanting to attack me. He’s always saying that he wants to kill me because I let him down, betrayed him.”

“And this is from when he was...brought back by Ustrina?” Daenerys nodded. “Then at least you know it isn’t real. He isn’t real and definitely not the man you knew and loved. Eventually, you’ll realise that and the nightmares will stop.”

“You make it sound so easy. But even Bruda wasn’t sure about whether they were real or not. You said that you saw her do it to a number of people - did they look real to you?” Daenerys didn't need an answer from the way Melisandre’s expression changed and darkened. “The entire reason why we’re in this position is because Bruda couldn’t find it in himself to believe Isabella wasn’t real.”

“At least it explained why his demeanour changed so dramatically. He was fighting his own demons.” Melisandre stared into the fire. Where once she believed it always gave her the answers she needed, now it gave her no comfort to ease her warring mind. “He couldn’t bring himself to kill his wife. And he couldn’t bring himself to tell me about the pain and heartbreak he was going through. It’s just...when you’re in my position...and you think that he...it was difficult.”

“You love him, don’t you?” Daenerys asked, already knowing the answer.

Melisandre didn't look at her, only responding with a small nod of her head. It was the first time she had truly admitted it, even though she had known it deep down for a long time. “And I never had the courage to tell him. Maybe because I knew he didn't reciprocate my feelings...since he was still in love with her.”

“He would be angry right now at how foolish you’re being. Of course he loves his wife and he always will. But she died hundreds of years ago. You don’t have to compete with her and, even if you did, you already held his affections. Everyone could see it.”

“But what if that doesn’t mean anything anymore? What if Ustrina killed him as soon as we escaped?”

“I worry about that constantly but, I think, if that had happened, we would have sensed it somehow. The whole kingdom would have felt it. And, until we kill that evil woman, we’ll just have to hold onto that glimmer of hope.”

**********

When he’d stormed out of the room, leaving Sansa behind, Jon had soon realised that he had nowhere else to go. He didn't want to be in an area with loads of people, people he hardly knew, so that had ruled out the courtyard and the Great Hall. In the end, the only place that seemed fitting was the Godswood that was still somehow standing after the battle against the White Walkers. Maybe the old gods would be able to tell him what to do, to make sense of this most nonsensical situation. Someone had recently told him that Spring was upon them but you wouldn’t have known that from looking at the forest. The trees and their leaves were still capped in snow, painting the greenery a pristine white. As a place, it had always had an ethereal sense to it but especially when it looked like this. Jon just wished that he could find peace within it.

He found himself on a large smooth stone, directly in front of the looming weirwood tree, its ugly red face peering at Jon sceptically. As he stared at it, Jon wondered what it would think of him right now. Weak? A coward? He was a man who was running away from his problems, not for the first time in his life. When he had faced too many difficulties across his childhood, he had eventually run away from Winterfell to the Wall, hoping to find a better purpose there. After the war and when he faced a choice between Sansa and Daenerys, a choice between blood and family or loyalty and friendship, he had run away again, this time past the Wall to live amongst the Free Folk. Now, with these new revelations weighing down upon his shoulders and Sansa wanting him to act upon them, he was contemplating running in the same direction for a third, and possibly final, time. As he thought about it, whenever he chose to run, it was always away from this place. Surely that gave him an honest answer as to where his true allegiances lay. 

The Stark name, although affording him a comfortable upbringing, had given him nothing but torture. Growing up, he was supposed to live up to what the family stood for and make a name for himself. Yet it was a poison chalice, bringing unwanted attention upon himself, from those who didn't think he deserved it. He should have been happy that the secrets Bran had unveiled meant that he had always had the right to call himself a Stark. But, instead, it left him with a hollow emptiness inside of him as he realised that a single lie had caused his suffering. If it had been known who he was and who his parents were, then he would have been treated with more respect, or at least some form of common decency. That was all Jon had ever wanted. It was also possible that revealing who he was would have brought King Robert Baratheon bearing down upon him, looking to kill the symbol of his love’s death. As Jon sat there, staring at the Weirwood tree and its twisted features, he didn't know which fate he would have preferred. 

He knew that was poor of him to think like that. Life was a miracle and a gift that should be cherished above all others. In that sense, he was lucky to be sitting there, having these dark thoughts. He had known a lot of men who would have preferred to be in his place, who  _ deserved _ to be in his place. Samwell Tarly. Mance Rayder. Beric Dondarrion. But, as had been the case for as long as he could remember, his fate was being determined by a name. So he was a Targaryen. The true heir to the throne if one believed what had been written all those years ago. The Realm deserved some stability and him fighting Daenerys for the right to wear a crown would bring about the opposite. If she was dead though...then was it his duty to seek his birthright in the face of this unknown threat? He couldn’t leave the Kingdom at the mercy of the dark power that had been spoken of, whoever or whatever that was. Jon wished that he didn't have such a sense of morality at times. The experiences he’d been through showed that those who stuck to their morals and oaths and loyalties were usually the first to die. But he wouldn’t change, Jon knew that. Because he’d rather die knowing he’d been loyal than live through betraying those he cared for. Which was the crux of his dilemma. Who did he care about the most? Sansa, because she was his family? The girl who had barely acknowledged his existence growing up until it was only them left standing. Or Daenerys, because she was his queen and the woman he’d fought with against all the odds. Someone who had never judged him upon what his name was supposed to symbolise. But also a woman he hadn’t known for long when he thought about it.

It would have been easy for Jon to run away right now. He could find Oslen, pack their things, and they’d be on the road, heading in the opposite direction to the one they’d just come before anyone noticed their absence. Then they could live on in blissful ignorance beyond the Wall, making a life for themselves and the wildlings whilst the Kingdom below tore itself apart. What could Sansa do? Tell everyone that he was meant to be King? He’d already be out of reach before they started to believe her. Yet, Jon knew he wasn’t going to do that. When had he ever done the easy thing? Any decision he made hinged on the fate of Daenerys and, until unquestionable proof arrived of what had happened to her, he was consigned to staying at Winterfell.

“How did I know that I would find you here, Snow?” Oslen had approached along the single path leading to the Godswood, wrapped up in a thick woollen shawl that made her look much more diminutive than usual. The smile she was wearing disappeared when she saw the expression on his face, slowly walking up to him. Jon shifted slightly on the rock to make space for her. He didn't say a word and they sat there together, sharing a comfortable silence that they’d grown used to over the duration of their journey. He wasn’t surprised that she had been the one to find him (that was if Sansa had sent anyone to search for his whereabouts); she seemed to have a knack of doing it. He wasn’t prepared to admit that he was thankful for her presence.

“I asked where your room was,” she continued. “When I got there, your sister was standing there, alone, clutching a book to her chest. When she noticed my presence, she stormed off. I swear that her cheeks were stained with tears. Did something happen between you two? If you don’t want to answer, I’ll understand…”

Jon held out a hand to stop her and to indicate he was willing to speak. “I shouldn’t be telling you this but, right now, you’re the only person here who I trust. It turns out that I’m a Targaryen by birth, meaning that it’s I who should be sitting on the throne.”

Oslen made an ‘O’ shape with her mouth, not finding any words in response. She seemed even more startled than he’d expected and, for some reason, worried about this latest development. “So are you going down South? To claim what is yours? You’ll have to send me on my way, to tell all the others that you’ve been forced to leave them.”

“I’m not taking the throne,” Jon said resolutely.

“You’re not?” A smile appeared on her lips and Jon did well not to be drawn by it.

“It’s not what I want. After all this time, I’ve come to realise that the people of this Kingdom aren’t  _ my _ people. I’ve come to know a better life amongst the Free Folk than I ever had here. I want to keep that. And I’d have no clue about ruling the entirety of the Realm. It’s difficult enough just looking over our tribes. Daenerys will always be the better candidate.”

“Daenerys lost the throne,” Olsen reminded him, with a strange edge to her voice.

“And she’ll get it back. Eventually. I know she will. She has to.”

“As far as I’m aware, nothing in life is guaranteed or set in stone. But I’m glad you seem to have made this choice. I want you to stay up here, far away from King’s Landing.”

“And why’s that?” he chose to ask, turning his attention to her for the first time. She was closer than he’d thought.

Oslen shrugged her shoulders but didn't think of moving away. “Because...it’s like what you said. This isn’t your world anymore. It probably never was. And, you won’t tell anyone else this...but I’ve grown to like your company. I’ve been forced to really, being stuck with you for so long.”

“That might just be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“And you won’t spill a word of it to another soul. Or I’ll sadly have to drive a sword through your chest. Or leave you alone in the wilderness with no help or resources. And it would pain me oh so much to do that.”

“You’re in charge,” he replied dutifully, a small smile on his face.

“Am I?”

He really shouldn’t have said that. “Um...maybe you should forget I said that.”

“I definitely am not. I’ll make sure you learn how much I love to take  _ control _ .” The look she was giving him made him have a strange mix of feelings and emotions, of the like he hadn’t experienced since Ygritte. When she saw his wide eyed expression and nervous look, she burst out into fits of laughter, clapping her hands together. “Jon Snow, it is far too easy to tease you.” As she calmed down though, she rested her head against his shoulder and Jon instinctively brought his arm around her. And, as he stared again at the face of the weirwood, he felt it no longer looked quite as scary as it did when he was on his own.

**********

Night had drawn in and, for once, the courtyard of Winterfell was empty. The frosty air probably had something to do with that, driving people inside as they searched for warmth or back to their camps to light a fire. Whatever the reason was, Jon was thankful for it as he slowly stalked along the stone pathway. He had to admit that he was feeling slightly better about the situation after his conversation with Oslen, which would have seemed an absurd notion just hours before when he had first received the news. Somehow, amidst his warring mind and contemptible thoughts, the wildling woman had managed to show him that he could accept this new element to his story but not be forced to be shaped by it. According to her, he could remain the same man as he always had been. He had wondered whether that was entirely a good thing but Oslen had been quick to respond, claiming that, in the short time she had known him, he had only represented the good values that everyone should aspire to uphold. She had left him with those words spinning in his head, Jon wanting to believe her. All he knew for the time being was that she was someone very special and he found himself not wanting to lose her. Could he allow himself to open up again, after it had caused him so much heartbreak in the past? Would professing his affections ultimately lead to him cradling her dead body, as had been the case with Oslen? He had no one to talk to about the problem. He remembered the conversations he had with Bruda, who would talk regularly about the wonders of love. Jon knew that, if he were here, he would likely say that it was worth the risk.

The only positive about having this debate going on inside of his head was that it pushed back the issue of his lineage. He now understood that he couldn’t run from it like he had initially wanted to because it would forever be a part of him. It would follow him wherever he went and it would cause him to constantly be looking over his shoulder. He didn't want a life like that. The whole point of moving beyond the Wall and starting a new life with the Free Folk was so that he could move on from what connected him to the kingdom; this would destroy everything he had built. So he couldn’t ignore it. Maybe he didn't have to. Because, despite what Sansa insisted, it would always be down to him whether he wanted to rule and the fact was simple - he didn't. As long as Daenerys was breathing, she would always be his queen and he would continue to support her. Maybe his lineage would help, uniting the north with the Crown. He could only hope.

His boots crunched in the soft covering of snow that had painted the ground. It would be gone soon, the snow. The Godswood would hold onto it for longer but, here in the confines of the castle, it would slowly disappear. Jon wondered whether that, when the snow went and Winter was finally at end, the memories of what had happened during it would melt away too. Would people learn to forget so that they could move on from the horrors they’d seen? It was a delicate situation and Jon didn't know which option was best. It would bring a lot of comfort to the people if they could finally move on from the war and look towards a more promising future. That was what spring had always been about, always bringing new beginnings along with it. But he also knew that he didn't want people to forget those who had lost their lives amongst the snow, making sure that people actually got to live to see the spring.    
He ventured past a dark corner of the courtyard where a stack of barrels and other resources were stacked and tied together, the only light coming from a small lamp on the wall. As he pressed on, Jon was put on edge by a sound, a disturbance coming from that direction. It was probably some small animal, a rat, no doubt. Despite his reasoning, he was still curious and he took a step closer. There was a shadow there, a figure. From where they were standing, Jon couldn’t make out a face. He couldn’t even tell whether they were a man or woman. They were still, unmoving. He placed his hand instinctively on where his sword was attached to his side but he tried to stay calm. There was no need to spook them.

“I’ve been watching you,” came a voice from the darkness. It was gruff, definitely a man’s voice. For some reason, Jon had the sense that he had heard it before but he couldn’t place it straight away. 

He should have carried on walking, ignoring this weird and slightly ominous figure. But, again, his curiosity got the better of him. “As I was walking through the courtyard?” Maybe they were just drunk. There had certainly been a lot of celebrating in the castle after news of Daenerys’ supposed defeat so it wouldn’t surprise him. 

“Yes.” There was a pause. “And no. I’ve been watching you for a longer time than that. You’ve done so much with your life. Even more than I’d hoped for.”

Jon was rightly on edge now. “Who are you? Why don’t you come out of the shadows, stop playing this game, and we can have a proper conversation.” That was if he didn't need to use the sword he was gripping tighter now.

“I don’t think seeing me will make this any easier, Jon. She said that the first experience can be...difficult. You might not react like I want you to.”

So he knew his name. But, with every word he said, it was becoming even more confusing. “Who is  _ she _ ?” It seemed like the obvious question.

“The woman who did this. She said that you would need me by your side. She wants people to be happy, you see. And she believes that this is the best way to make that happen. When it first happened, I wasn’t sure. I thought it was wrong and twisted. But I’ve come to accept the gift I’ve been given. I can see my son again.”

Jon didn't like to admit he was afraid but he was right now, as he took another step closer. “Just take a step forward,” he instructed as calmly as he could. “Whatever this woman has done to you, I’m sure we can fix it...or sort it, or whatever you want. But I can’t help you if you keep hiding.”

There were many things that had crossed Jon’s mind as he wondered who this person was. The likelihood had still been a drunk, searching for more alcohol amongst the barrels. Maybe it was a trick someone was playing on him. He wouldn’t put it past Oslen to do something like this for a laugh. Whatever he had thought or expected, he was not prepared for what he saw next. From the shadows, a man who shouldn’t have been there emerged. And Jon instantly realised why he had recognised the voice. It just hadn’t connected because it was seemingly impossible. He took a fearful step backwards, only just keeping his balance. Jon drew his sword and did his best to keep his arm from shaking. Eddard Stark stood before him, a sad smile on his face and his hands held up in a sign of peace. It was doing nothing to stop Jon from pointing his longsword at him.

“I know...this is difficult. It’s weird and likely terrifying. You probably have so many questions right now and I hope that I can answer some of them. But you don’t need that. Put it away.”

Jon’s grip only tightened. “What are you? Phantom, ghost? I’ve seen people brought back to life before and I’ve learnt not to trust them.”

“I’m Eddard Stark of House Winterfell, formerly head of that family. That’s all you need to know.”

“Frankly, I think I need to know a lot more before I begin to accept any of this. Am I dreaming? Is that it? Of course my head would conjure you up after what I’ve learnt.”

“You’re not dreaming. I’m real. I’m standing right here.”

“But that’s not possible!” Jon shouted. “The last time I saw you, I was leaving for the Wall. Years ago. And I never saw you again because you died!”

Ned instinctively reached up a hand and touched his neck with a wince. “I wouldn’t believe it if I were in your position, I must admit. She said it was some sort of magic. Has magic really returned to the land like she told me?”

“You still haven’t made clear who she is.”

“She didn't want me to tell you. She expressly warned me against it, saying you wouldn’t understand it anyway.”

“Typical. You keeping more secrets from me. If you’re real...which I still highly doubt...then explain to me why you didn't tell at least me who I was. I could have kept it a secret if you’d told me to.”

Ned bowed his head. “She said that you just found out about that. All I can tell you is that I would do it again. I was protecting you from what Robert would have done. If I told you, you wouldn’t have understood. You would have let it slip and there would have been no way to stop the king from killing you.”

With a shake of his head, Jon steadied his grip again. “Not good enough.” He swung his sword at the other man (if he could actually call him that), Ned blocking it with his own sword that had appeared out of nowhere. 

Their swords together, their faces were inches apart. Jon had to admit that it  _ looked _ like him. Ned grimaced through the effort, gritting his teeth. “Don’t do this, Jon.”

Instead of listening, Jon pushed off, creating a space between the two. He swung again and was parried again. They shared blows, the sound of metal clanging against metal ringing out through the empty courtyard. It was likely that someone would hear soon and come to investigate. How would Jon go about explaining that? He was shoved back and Ned sent a foot into his stomach, sending Jon tumbling to the ground. The ghost (it had to be a ghost) approached slowly. Instead of getting up, Jon swung his sword at the ropes binding the barrels, slicing it clean off. They rolled towards Ned, taking him by surprise, and Jon used the distraction to get away, praying that it was indeed a dream.


	27. Permission and Entry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and co arrive at Winterfell but it is down to Sansa whether they will be allowed to enter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone still reading? Comment below!

They stood and stared at the castle ahead of them, united by a prevailing sense of dread at the sight. It had been a long and tiring journey to get them to this point and the next few hours would tell them whether the hardship had been worth it. They looked like different people to the ones that had left King’s Landing; Daenerys’ hair had once been clean and freshly brushed yet now was a tangled mess after the numerous times they’d been forced to sleep on the ground. All of their hair had grown to be unkempt, with only Melisandre still looking presentable. Gendry had, rather sourly, put it down to her magic but she argued that she was used to journeys like the one they’d just undertaken. Their horses were visibly tired, their cart also looking worse for wear after the difficult paths and roads it had been made to traverse across. At one point, one of the wooden wheels had come clean off, costing them time as they paused to mend it. But they were still thankful for its presence, knowing that few of them would have made it if they’d been riding solely upon horseback.

Winterfell stood tall and gloomy in the near distance, a grey stone mountain amongst the fields of green and white. Smoke billowed out from it at a steady and heavy rate, telling them that the castle was full. They didn't know how they felt about that. They had only left this region a short time ago but the circumstances could be no more different. When they had left, with dreams of winning the Throne spurring them onwards, they had been seen as heroes and saviours, joined together with its people through blood and war. The likelihood of their success, and indeed their survival, depended solely on whether those sentiments remained. Daenerys had the fear that Sansa had turned her people against them, poisoning their minds. If that had happened, condemning their fate, it would be her fault, no one else’s, after her mishandling of the situation when the Northern contingent had visited her domain. How she wished she had kept her smile and fake pleasantries going for a short while longer. It would have given them a much greater chance of receiving sanctuary. 

Their approach had not been picked up by any of the sentries yet, their group was so small and unnoticeable. Once they cleared the dense forest surrounding the large expanse of open land, their presence would be seen straight away, meaning they would be waiting for them once they reached the gates. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. They had no intentions of sneaking up on the people inside or finding a way in without detection. If this was to go well, they had to be open and upfront with their potential hosts. And it wasn’t as if they had any military power to threaten or blackmail their way in. Success hinged on the mercifulness of the Lady of the North, not on the might of an army. It was a dangerous situation that could not have a predictable outcome, a situation that Daenerys did not like to find herself in.

“If she turns us away,” Daenerys spoke, chiefly to Jorah but the others were so close that they couldn’t help but hear, “then she may as well put us death herself for what our prospects would be.”

“Hold on,” Bronn interrupted with a wave of his hand, a hesitant look in his eye. “There’s no way that we’re leading with that point. I actually enjoy living and I won’t give up if she turns us away. Everyone needs a sellsword eventually. I’ll find someone asking for the right price.”

“Not everyone can be hired so easily,” Davos commented. His sole intention was to protect Shireen, his ward. If Lady Sansa wanted to turn them away, so be it. But he would argue that she took pity on the young girl. “And you’re the Master of Coin, no longer a sellsword. There’ll be a whole host of a younger generation who have replaced you already, no doubt.”

Bronn’s face fell, his expression set in a scowl. His voice was no more than a grumble. “I’m not that old.”

“We should have faith in the North’s kindness,” Varys offered, a bit too optimistic for the others’ liking. “Recent memory of Queen Daenerys’ actions and sacrifices should force Lady Sansa’s hand.”

“Can you invite us to whatever fantasy world you’re living in?” Tyrion asked scathingly as he messed with his overgrown beard, feeling the many knots that had formed. 

“There’s no need to be such a pessimist, my  _ Lord. _ If Sansa threatened to execute us on sight, which has been a fear of ours since I first suggested this course of action, she could face a full blown revolt against her. Bonds stronger than friendship are forged in conflict and battle. Soldiers will come to our defence.”

“How would you know anything about fighting in a war?” Gendry asked. His tone spoke of the tension amongst the group that had grown as a result of their close proximity for such a long time. 

“I may not know war or the art of fighting, but I know and understand the way people work. The Northman is a creature bred on the notions of loyalty and allegiances, unspoken promises that don’t leave room for betrayal. Although our relationship with their Lady has become rather...frosty...betrayal is something that can’t be attributed to us just yet. We weren’t the ones to declare war after all.”

“I wouldn’t put it past Sansa to have told them all that we did betray her,” Daenerys said bitterly.

Jorah placed a soothing and calming hand on her arm, trying to fight back the fire that was always within her, no matter that her dragons were hundreds of leagues away. “Again, it’s best if you don’t say such things to her face. Diplomacy is a fickle art. There’s a thin line between success and failure.”

“I just want a bed,” Shireen moaned from her place on the cart. “Surely she will permit us that if nothing else.”

Davos smiled sadly at her, seeing how she still struggled to see the darkness in the world. It was a good quality to have. The others seemed to be fantasising about soft feather beds now, all of them with a wistful look in their eyes. “How do you think the old people like me have coped, lying on the ground? I may never walk with a straight back ever again. So thank the gods that your bones are young and without aches.” He patted her on the head affectionately, much to her visible annoyance.

“A bed does sound nice though,” Bronn said. “It’s funny the things you take for granted. The stuff you only realise you cherish once they’re gone.”

“I miss baths,” Missandei piped up, instinctively smelling herself with a disgusted grimace. “I haven’t been this disgusting since I was in Naath.”

“Then maybe it was good for all of us to be taken away from our lives of luxury,” Tyrion argued, although he was the one who enjoyed luxury more than anyone else. “And then we hope that dear Lady Sansa will take pity on us when she sees how ramshackle we all look.” He bit his lip when the women arched their eyebrows at him in a menacing fashion. “Although you all still look as wonderful as ever.”

“There is no point in discussing beds and baths until we are through the gates,” Melisandre pointed out. Her life as a Red Woman hadn’t been filled with luxury most of the time so she had less sorrow at its departure. “Nothing will be accomplished if we remain here, outside of the castle. The main issue we face is that Sansa Stark can communicate with us from the safety of her stronghold, whereas we must gain entry to convince her that we’re not her enemy. That requires a certain way with words, a degree of charm.” It was times like these where she really felt the lack of Bruda’s presence. He would have been able to sweet talk his way in with a few winks and good natured laughter. Along with a show of force most of the time. Was that her role now, to highlight how she could still cause damage to Winterfell if they weren’t permitted entry?

“Then you’re lucky I’m here,” Tyrion said with a smile. “I’ve faced more difficult and precarious situations than this. My way with diplomacy even amazes me sometimes. Just ask Bronn, who was there when I managed to wriggle out from Lady Arryn’s grasp at the Eyrie.”

“All I remember is me winning a fight to save your tiny arse. As for diplomacy, the one good thing you’re good for is blowing your own trumpet.” Bronn gave his friend a mocking smile.

Tyrion gritted his teeth in annoyance. “Regardless...I have a history with Sansa. I tried to treat her well in a world that was designed to destroy her. If I can make her remember that, then we may still stand a chance. But only if certain people stay quiet.” He glanced at Daenerys, whose face showed her ire.

“Are you meaning me? I won’t stay quiet in her presence. I have to show my strength, otherwise she might start to believe she can defeat me.”

“This isn’t about victory or defeat. It’s about joining forces once again. If you start bringing up what has happened recently, then she will not be willing to think back to the times before that. People can have fickle memories when it serves them.”

“The only way we’ll find out whether that’s true is if we stop hiding amongst the trees,” Jorah said, growing tired of hunching over in the bushes. “If we are to face this, there is no time like the present.” He stood tall, straightening the sword at his belt. He offered Daenerys a hand to help her from her crouching position on the ground, which she took gratefully. There was a short yet daunting walk to the castle of Winterfell. If they were recognised, which was likely, then it was entirely possible that archers would target them if Sansa ordered them to. Melisandre walked in front of the group, hoping her powers would be enough to protect them from that threat. Daenerys looked up at the tall walls, the crack that was still there from when Drogon had attacked. She had flown above Winterfell when she first arrived here, high above everyone. Now it was her turn to be looked down upon.

**********

Sansa could have sworn that her heart dropped out of her chest when the news reached her. It was Littlefinger who first got to her, bleating on about how Daenerys Targaryen was by the castle gates. If she had been drinking anything, she knew that she would have spat it out. No one had seen this coming. None of the advisers she kept around to predict events like this. Although her emotions were a confused mess within her, a war of instincts taking place, she managed to put on a facade of calmness as she slowly stood up and left the room, Baelish close behind her. He was already suggesting courses of action (she was inclined to say that it seemed more like he was  _ telling _ her what to do), asking whether they should ready the archers. She was faintly aware of him mentioning that it could be some sort of trick, that an army could be waiting unseen. But they would have heard of their approach by now, she was sure of it. A large group of men marching further north would definitely have been noticed. Maybe it was just her, for what reason Sansa couldn’t think of. But the archers being there would be a comfort to her, at least. And it meant Baelish had to run off again, spreading word of her instructions across the castle, leaving her on her own as she headed towards the southern wall and the main gates.

As she emerged into the bright, cold sunlight, the courtyard was a flurry of people moving about. Soldiers were arming themselves, hurriedly covering themselves in armour. Archers were clamouring to find their bows and enough archers, whilst those who wouldn’t be able to do anything in a fight ran inside to take cover and hope there wasn’t an attack to take place. Sansa watched this happen as if it were in slow motion, the people running around her becoming parts of a painting seemingly. Their worried expressions (some wore brave faces but she knew they were a lie) spoke of how unprepared they all were. Even she was not ready for a confrontation, despite how much she had enthused that their time was upon them. It had been easy to boast when words were your only weapon but now the shine of steel was surrounding her and her appetite for a battle was diminishing. 

Walking up the steps that led to the top of the wall, she hardly noticed when Jon appeared by his side. He was asking her questions, she could tell that much. His demeanour was frantic, his hair dishevelled and his face taken up by a wide eyed expression. He had spent the night with sweat dripping down his head, fearful thoughts about his father coming back to haunt him. Jon had planned to have a conversation about it, although he hadn’t known who would be best to have it with. But then he had woken up in a world of chaos, tales spreading that people were outside the gates, begging entrance. People he had left behind in King’s Landing. People he had abandoned, in a sense, when he ran off beyond the Wall to live a life of peace. People he had been told had died and perished in monstrous flames of unknown origin. After the previous night’s events, if it had all actually happened and it wasn’t something his mind had thought up and concocted, Jon feared that he was being visited by another set of ghosts. Ones that would elicit a painful sense of guilt when he looked at them. He continued to ask his sister if the words were true but she remained ignorant to the world as they climbed higher.

The wind felt wilder and colder when they reached the top, their hair blowing. The first thing they both noted was that there was no army in sight, which was a positive. Baelish was somehow back by her side, the reprieve not being long enough for her liking. Lyanna Mormont appeared, shadowed by the two Reeds. Their faces were stoic as they looked to their leader for advice. None came. Archers were beginning to line up along the perimeter. Someone shouted a command in the distance and they all moved in unison as they tightened their bows and aimed. That’s when Sansa looked down to see who the targets were. A small group, a strange mix of people, some on horseback, others packed into a cart. She saw some of them dismount to stand in the face of her warning, none of whom were dressed like soldiers. From the distance that was between them, she would have struggled to make out who they were had it not been for the shock of blonde hair that waved in the wind just as hers did. Her constant thoughts had been filled with the sight of her but she had not expected to see her so soon. But there she was. Daenerys Targaryen, the woman Sansa saw as a mighty leader and a powerful opponent, dressed in rags and her beautiful hair a mess. And that’s when Sansa realised that there had been no point in panicking, the fear quickly dissipating. Because she could tell that  _ she _ held the power now.

Tyrion took a few steps forward closer to the wall, eyeing the arrows pointing at him with obvious trepidation. He smoothed down his clothes for what good that would do; it was always best to look as presentable as possible. He glanced back at his Queen, who had been held back by the firm hand of Jorah on her shoulder. It had been silently agreed that it would be best to allow the Lannister to take charge of the interaction. His tongue was as sharp as any in the kingdom but it was without the flame Daenerys’ contained. Stoking a flame with more sparks was not the ideal choice. 

“Lady Sansa, Head of House Winterfell and Lady of the North,” he shouted so that his voice could be carried by the wind. An ominous silence had descended as he approached. The Imp fought the urge to gulp. “We come here in peace. We would have carried a white flag if we had had any materials on hand. We beg that you grant us the privilege of entering your home so that we can talk. Frank discussions are needed desperately if we are to save the kingdom. I’m sure you have heard the stories of what happened to us. Now we ask that you show mercy and the wiseness that you are bestowed with.”

Sansa moved to the edge of the wall, peering down at them all. “Why should I grant access to my home to my enemies?”

Tyrion bit his lip, shaking his head in a disgruntled fashion. He had known it would never be easy. “We are not your enemies, far from it. Recently, we have come close to becoming that but we are before you today to stop that from happening. I implore you to remember the times, not long ago, when we stood by your side when all was lost. We were guests in your home once and I would hope those kind sentiments remain. We have faced one terrible enemy together before and won. We face a threat even darker than that and only through cooperation can we survive and succeed once again.”

“And what if you are lying?”

“There is no way that I can relax those fears from down here,” he commented. “But do you see an army around us? We are of no threat to you. Right now, you could strike us down in an instant.”

“I could,” she agreed. “And I would be rid of your tyranny for good.” The archers imperceptibly tensed further, closer to letting loose their arrows.

Tyrion stood firm, unmoving in the face of the threat. Moving a step backwards would do little to protect him from the onslaught anyway. “But I like to think I know you, Lady Stark. I knew you when you were just a young girl in the capital. I tried my best to protect you from the horrors that plagued the city. And I know that you will not kill us in cold blood.” He took a breath. “And, if you kill us, you will lose all hope of having any freedom ever again.”

That made her pause. The one thing she had fought for since becoming ruler of the North. Was it possible that he was speaking the truth? Tyrion Lannister had been the only one who had never lied to her so far. But his words were not the ones she wanted to hear. “I have a question for you, Lord Tyrion. Why do you speak when your queen stands there behind you? Or has she lost the ability to talk for herself?”

Daenerys nudged her way out of Jorah’s grasp. Tyrion motioned for her to return to her place but she ignored him, choosing to stand next to her Hand. “Lady Sansa, you wish for me to speak and I am happy to comply. Your men, all the people you preside over, will know of the love I have for them, the commitment I have to them. I helped save your people when their days were dark and numbered, at great personal cost. If anything shows you the purity of my intentions, look back on my actions, not on the few sour words we shared. Would you condemn the kingdom and your people because of a grudge?”

Sansa held Daenerys’ gaze for a moment, contemplating. They wouldn’t get anything out of taking the castle and they wouldn’t be able to succeed in the first place. Was it time to listen to her side? “You have denied my people their rights ever since you took the Throne.”

“And you would take their right to live if you turn me away,” Daenerys retorted strongly. “Right now, politics are of no concern to me. But saving everyone is. If you choose to join us, or at least listen to the warning we give you...then a conversation could be possible in the future, one that looks into your wishes. One that I hope goes better than our last.”

“And if I turn you away?”

“Then we will all surely die. And I will have wasted a trip and valuable time when I could have tried finding an ally who believes me. Sansa...you have seen the terrors that the world can be plagued with. I believed your brother when he told me of the White Walkers. Now you must be the one to believe me.”

Sansa turned her head to look at Jon, who she knew would advocate for their entry. He nodded his head slightly with an imploring look. On her other side, Littlefinger appeared less sure, not knowing the full implications of the choice she was about to make. He was about to suggest that she tell them to leave when she raised her hand. The group below tensed and readied themselves for the attack, the whistle of arrows arching through the sky. But then her arm lowered slowly and the archers withdrew their bows. Daenerys and Tyrion let out a collective sigh of relief, the former sending a small smile up at her counterpart. Sansa didn't return it but ordered that the gates be opened and Daenerys was, once again, inside the walls of Winterfell.

**********

To say that the room was filled with a heavy cloud of tension was an understatement. Sansa sat at the centre of the head table, flanked by Baelish and Mormont. Jon stood off to one side, fearful of what was about to happen. He had briefly said hello to the surprise visitors but there had naturally been no time for a lot of pleasantries. He had been confused by the lack of presence of Bruda but was sure that was bound to be explained at some point. Oslen had found him at some point, equally as stunned at their arrival, although Jon didn't know why that was the case. It wasn’t as if she had met them before this point. The duo eyed the rest of the people inside the hall, mainly soldiers lining the walls in case any trouble started. Jon couldn’t see that as a possibility; starting anything would be a fruitless endeavour for them, especially since their weapons had been confiscated when they’d walked through the gates. 

Daenerys was waiting for their host to talk first. She was at least willing to follow some social protocols if she had to. She could tell Jorah was constantly surveying their surroundings, counting how many armed soldiers there were. The knight felt naked without his sword, his hand ghosting over where he would normally be able to find it. Their group was crammed into a tight circle in the centre of the hall, despite the abundance of space available. They felt safer when they were closer together. Shireen was standing close by to Davos, who gripped her shoulder tightly to ensure she stayed there. The only light was the flicker of flames from the torches on the wall, casting shadows around them, creeping up on them. It had never felt so dark to them before, even when they had waited for the White Walkers to arrive that final night. Gendry, who was the only one to have not stepped foot in the castle before, felt uncomfortable at how trapped he was, how trapped they all were. One attack and they’d all be dead in an instant. He thought back to his memories of Arya and wondered whether her own people would act so without honour and mercy. If anyone knew how family members could differ, it was him. Sansa, from what he’d seen, appeared to be a completely different woman to the sister he had known.

“I think we all wait with bated breath for you to explain what caused your exile,” Sansa began. “After all, you laid claim to so much power. How could you lose it so easily?”

Daenerys’ nostrils flared at the thinly veiled insult. Tyrion had wanted to continue being the one who spoke but had realised that all Sansa wanted was to talk to her counterpart, her equal in a sense. Daenerys calmed her anger before she spoke. “No one could have foreseen this happening. There were no armies, no men on horseback laying siege to my city, no soldiers attempting to climb the walls. The North is a region that is familiar with stories of magic so I hope you will believe the one I tell you.”

“But is it a story, as you suggest, or the truth?” Littlefinger asked snidely. Sansa looked less than impressed at his imprudence. 

“If I had not lived through it, I would say it was nothing more than a story. But I stood there as the walls of the Red Keep began to tumble around us. Our only choice was to flee so that we could fight again, to regather our strength.”

“But what sort of creature could cause as much devastation as you describe?” Sansa wondered. It sounded to her as if one of Daenerys’ dragons had gotten loose and wreaked havoc on the capital. It would have been a sweet irony.

“Not a creature. A woman. You met my advisor, Bruda.” She paused to wait for Sansa to nod her head. It wasn’t as if anyone could forget the warlock. “This woman is just like him, a person born with the ability to use and bend magic to her will. Yet, unlike the man I trusted, Ustrina - that is the name she goes by - used her powers for destruction. We invited her into our home as a guest, not knowing who she was and, by the time we realised what she could do, it was too late.” The others had picked up on her use of ‘ _ we’ _ , knowing that it was mainly Bruda’s fault. Daenerys knew that there was no point in assigning blame now.

“So far, this seems to me like an issue only concerning you and King’s Landing. What can she do to us from so far away?”

Daenerys looked at Sansa in a perplexed fashion. “She holds the Throne of the Seven Kingdom. She rules the Realm. Any decision she makes will affect you and your people. If she so pleases, she could cut you off from all resources, destroying your land and hopes of prosperity.”

“Then the solution would be to sever ties before she does the same. We would get what we wanted and allow her to control what she’s claimed.”

“Would you be willing to condemn those millions of people outside of your Realm just because they are not under your jurisdiction? You would be consigning them to death, my Lady.”

“You did that when you lost the Throne. As Queen, it is your duty to protect everyone in the Realm, not mine. Just because you failed doesn’t mean I have to sacrifice everything to mend what you have broke.”

Daenerys bristled angrily. “I am here before you because I am trying to protect everyone. The only way I can do that is with your support. You are heading down a path where you put your needs first, condemning yourself to a legacy that is looked back at with disgust and hatred. I know that is not the woman you truly are.”

“You are also underestimating the threat of magic,” Melisandre warned ominously. “Ustrina will not be confined by political words or the drawing of boundaries. Nothing would stop her from crossing into your territory and doing exactly the same as what she did in King’s Landing.”

Petyr Bealish smirked. “Magic is a whimsy, a fairytale. If she tried to attack, she would be met with the sharp edge of steel. Whatever  _ magic _ you believe exists can’t stop that.”

“Are you willing to risk that?” Melisandre’s hands flared in a blinding golden light, her magical energy billowing into balls in both of her palms. Her eyes glowed a similar colour as she stared at Littlefinger, whose face went deathly pale at the sight. Two soldiers took menacing steps towards her, swords drawn, and were about to impale her when Gendry stood in their way, shouting loudly. The distraction made Melisandre lose focus and she looked at her saviour in alarm. The two soldiers eyed her and then sheepishly looked at their Lady, who was now standing up, a furious look on her face.

“Do you mean to threaten me in my own home?” she asked, her voice raised.

“It was merely a demonstration,” came a dismissive reply from the warlock. “Your... _ advisor _ was unable to see how much of a threat we are faced with. This was the fastest way to change his opinion.” Melisandre smirked when she saw the state he was now in. “It looks like it worked.”

“I apologise for Melisandre’s dramatics,” Daenerys intervened, even though she had enjoyed the spectacle immensely. “But she is right. This threat is greater than any we have known.”

“If you have your own people who can use magic, surely they can fight off this Ustrina and save us going to war,” Sansa suggested, not truly caring if that meant the red haired woman perished in the fight.

“She is too strong. Bruda is still in King’s Landing but is just a captive as we would be if she got her hands on us. You have seen how powerful he is, so just imagine what she must be capable of.”

“But why would someone with so much power need the Crown?” It still wasn’t making sense to the Stark woman.

“We don’t know for certain. Bruda believed that she needed to combine that power with her own to complete what she started. You may not believe what that entails.”

“You have woven a tale of monstrous warlocks. I have seen you ride on the back of dragons and I have lost people to the creatures of the night. I think I have lost the ability to be disbelieving anymore.”

“Ustrina appears to have a twisted idea that involves resurrecting the dead. Some as part of an army, some, I believe, to mess with her enemies’ heads. Bruda fell victim to this curse, as did I. If we were to allow her to succeed, the Realm would soon be plagued with phantoms and ghosts, people we have lost returning to the land of the living.” 

None of them noticed how Jon stiffened at her words. Oslen gazed at him worriedly but he ignored her, instead taking a step forward. “I would take heed of their warnings, sister. I think they’re telling the truth.”

Daenerys and Sansa shared the same confused expressions on their faces. “How could you possibly know this?” Stark asked.

Jon looked at the ground, taking a breath. After a moment, he looked up again, staring directly at Sansa. “Because I have witnessed our father return to Winterfell.”


	28. Letters and Truces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two people agree to settle their differences as Daenerys and Bruda have realisations

After Jon’s shock revelation, Sansa had little option but to agree to let them stay for the time being, whilst they assessed the situation and the truth to their claims. With a number of soldiers in the hall when Jon had admitted to having such an extraordinary supernatural experience, the Lady of Winterfell had feared that gossip would spread across the castle grounds and then further afield. Gossip and whispered stories told with glee and excitement were the most uncontrollable of forces, Varys had whispered when Sansa had taken her brother away from the gathering. Daenerys had no doubt that she would be asking heatedly why he had chosen then to tell his tale, practically undermining her authority. Although she was glad that his intervention had lended a much needed credibility to their claims, she couldn’t help but feel slightly sorry for the other woman. Sansa had been placed in an impossible position, obviously not wanting to trust her rival but not being able to question her about it once Jon had sided with them. But it meant that they were safely inside Winterfell, closer than ever to getting the support they desperately needed. Even if the woman they sought to earn trust from had placed a large number of guards around the rooms they were staying in, just to be safe. They wouldn’t be able to eat or talk, let alone move about, without it being reported back to the head of Winterfell. Thankfully, Daenerys wasn’t planning on keeping any secrets from her; Jorah and Tyrion had repeatedly said that honesty was the only policy available to them, despite her Hand detesting the idea of being completely truthful.

Another major positive of being granted sanctuary, for however long it lasted, was that she had access to a bath once again. Two maids had come into her small chambers with jugs of hot water, ready to fill up the curved basin in the corner of the room. Missandei had quickly intervened, saying that it was her duty to look after tasks like that, sending the other girls on their way. The former slave girl had filled the bath almost to the brim, Daenerys staring at the steam coming off with a longing she hadn’t expected to feel. Once it was ready, she stripped from her tatty clothes and untangled her hair to the best of her abilities before slowly lowering herself in. The boiling temperature, not painful to her skin, was soothing and comforting. She could almost feel the dirt falling from her skin as Missandei scrubbed at her. Soon, even her hair was resembling what it once had, a brush being dragged through the mess rather roughly. A great deal of force had been needed to deal with it though so she wasn’t going to complain. 

Jorah arrived at the door whilst she was still enjoying the luxury, awkwardly looking away when Missandei invited him on the bequest of Daenerys. The younger woman left them on their own, not wanting to intrude on their privacy. Daenerys smirked at the shyness the knight was showing, despite having seen her in a similar state of undress many a time. He just would never change and she found that completely charming. The Old Bear had vowed to never disrespect her and he was sticking to that promise, even when all he wanted to do was admire the beautiful vision before him. The water was beginning to grow cold, which gave her the excuse she needed to leave the bath, not hiding anything from her love as she stood up. Jorah tried to look away but, as Daenerys stepped closer to him, she softly turned his head so that he was forced to stare at her. She smiled sweetly and leaned forward to place a delicate kiss on his lips. They hadn’t been able to do anything like this for a long time, their tiring journey constantly spent in the company of others. It was nice to have some privacy, forgetting the soldiers that were standing guard just outside the door. 

Jorah looked down at her as she pressed herself against him in a warm embrace, the fire of her body resonating through the few layers of cloth he was wearing. “If I had known that you were still bathing, I would have waited,” he muttered quietly.

“Nonsense. I’d accumulated so much dirt and mud on my skin that it took almost an hour to get rid of all of it. Even so, I still think there’s some left. It will be days before I’m rid of its presence. And there’s no need for you to turn away when I’m washing. We’re still destined to be married and you have seen me naked  _ quite _ a lot, when I think about it.”

He still looked sheepish. “Well...this is different.”

Daenerys rolled her eyes with another smirk as she walked away, covering herself up with a simple gown that had been provided. It did little to hide the curves of her body though, Jorah noted mentally. “Has any word come from Sansa yet?” she asked, getting to the point straight away. She may have wanted to spend time relaxing after the torment they’d been through but she knew that Ustrina’s power and grasp on the throne only strengthened with each passing moment. And, the longer they waited, the more danger Bruda and Marwyn would find themselves in.

“Me and Davos were in the courtyard, under supervision of course, and we heard that she had been in discussion with Jon since the meeting ended. You can guess what they were talking about. I believe he wants to talk to you as well, presumably about the same thing.”

“I’ll be happy to. He’s the main reason why we’re still here and my head isn’t on the chopping block. I still feel a great sense of unease being here. It’s different from when we were last their guests, their allies. We had a common enemy. Now...Sansa could do what she pleases with me. I promised myself I wouldn’t be dragged into these political games but here we are.”

“This is a bit more than any ordinary political game,” Jorah reasoned. “Just like when we went to war against the White Walkers, this is you putting the kingdom first, your desires second. Any sane person will see that, Khaleesi.”

“Sadly, sanity is not a common commodity amongst people, I’ve experienced. We need to be careful all the time. She may speak pleasantries but her words have the potential to be just as sharp as blades.”

“I know. And, trust me, we’re taking every precaution we can. You won’t be left alone at any time. But I doubt she’d do anything to you when you have come in peace. Word will already have spread to other noble families in the local area. If she were to do anything, Sansa would lose any credibility she had and their respect and loyalty.”

“I’m sure that will ease my heart after she’s thrust a knife in my back,” Daenerys said with a frown. “Is that what we want though? Word spreading that we’re here? Once Ustrina finds out, which she eventually will, there’s nothing to stop her from marching up to the North and finishing me off. I’d hate to think that I’ve condemned these people as well as my own.”

“She was always going to find out,” Jorah reassured her. “She would have known you were alive from the moment she saw Bruda and Marwyn alone. But your presence does not increase the danger the Northmen face, not by a long stretch. Ustrina poses a threat to every corner of the kingdom. That’s why you’re here.”

She nodded her head. “Do you think that Jon is telling the truth? About seeing his father back from the grave?”

“I’m not the expert on the matter,” Jorah admitted, worry clearly on his face, his brow creased with multiple lines. “You’ve been through this experience, as has Tyrion. You say that Bruda did too. So it’s not unreasonable to think that Jon has as well.”

“But we were all in King’s Landing. If it is starting to affect people in this part of the kingdom...then her powers are growing as Bruda feared.”

“And we need to hurry up with finding a solution,” Jorah finished resolutely.

“I need to write a letter to Bruda. To tell that we’re at Winterfell and safe for the time being. At least then he knows where we are if he is forced to flee like we did.”

“Do you think that’s wise? You’ve already voiced your fear of Ustrina discovering our location. If she intercepted the letter, she’d not only know for sure but also presume Bruda is plotting against her. You’d be putting him in danger.”

“He already is in danger!” Daenerys shouted. “Bruda should have come with us when we left but he was too foolish for his own good. Once he knows where to send correspondence to us, it’s feasible that he can keep us informed of events happening in the capital. If we’re to succeed, we still need his support, no matter the mistakes he’s made in the past. The benefits outweigh the possible negatives.”

“You’re in charge, Khaleesi.”

“I am. Sometimes I forget that, what with everything that has happened recently. But I am still the queen, regardless of what this sorceress says.” Daenerys snatched a piece of parchment that was lying on the table and began to write out a brief note to Bruda. She included certain details that would prove it was actually her who was writing, things only she would know. They had spent so many moments alone together that it was easy to think of some. She sent Jorah away with the sealed note, telling him to get it in the air as soon as possible. Despite his reservations, he agreed straight away, leaving Daenerys to fret about her decision. She needed a response from the warlock and she hoped that it came quickly. Because she hadn’t told Jorah the entire reason behind her burning need to get in touch with the old man - she wanted...no, needed...proof that he was still alive.

**********

A semblance of normality had settled upon Winterfell as the night sky hung above, distant stars twinkling, unaware of the turmoil that had happened earlier. Now, soldiers patrolled the walls of the castle regularly, in case Daenerys had lied and her army was on the way. Sansa had been paranoid since the meeting had ended, not helped by the conversation she’d had afterwards with her brother. Even so, Daenerys was happy to have a guard out at all times so that, if Ustrina decided to approach, they’d at least have some warning. For what little good that would do in that eventuality. The Northern men, thankfully, were unwilling to be too harsh on their guests, having fought with them less than a year previous. That gave them some room to move about the castle grounds if they so wanted to, if they were happy to have a constant watch on them. The levels of animosity they had been expecting, or at least had been fearing, were not present, which they had to take as a good sign. 

Melisandre was making use of this slight freedom as she wandered into the courtyard, not wanting to be cramped up in the small room that had been provided for her. She was sure that she had been given the worst accommodation out of their group, mainly because of her little  _ show _ in the hall earlier. It had been worth it to see the looks on their faces and it had acted as a reminder to herself that she was getting almost complete control over her powers. Sometimes, she had to force herself to accept that truth, that she was getting better. Moving further away from the woman she had been. Every time she used her magic now, no matter the size or scale of what she accomplished, it was if a small part of the Red Woman died, leaving her as someone new. She could sense that was a good thing, as she had always known from the point Bruda had changed her that fateful night. The thought of the warlock, combined with the feeling of being trapped in her room, had been the reason for her late night stroll, the cool breeze helping her to relax and open her mind.

Melisandre found it strange that the cold was more of use to her now, a far cry from when her sanctuary had been in the flames. Again, it was another reminder of what a profound effect Bruda had had on her. The man who was Winter. If his magic was hers now, surely that meant she shared some of that quality too. Embracing the cold hadn’t come naturally to her, which was perfectly reasonable when she had spent the most part of her life looking into the fire. What she desperately wanted was for Bruda to be there to guide her, to teach her how to accept this new part of her life. He would know what was the right thing to say at the right moment to calm her nerves. She couldn’t tell whether her agitation had increased since gaining control over this magic, only knowing that she wished he wasn’t miles away in a different part of the kingdom. She thought back to her conversation with Daenerys and Bruda’s love of the stars; she looked up at them now and wondered whether he was doing the same, sharing a connection with her despite the distance between her. 

She only tore her gaze from the stars when she noticed a figure sitting in the corner, atop one of the barrels. Looking around, she saw that there were still soldiers about, who had been staring at her more queerly than the rest of her party. That was no doubt down to an element of mistrust towards magic. Nothing had changed on that front then - she had grown accustomed to being treated differently, like a sort of creature so very different to them. Curiosity driving her, she walked towards the figure, the flicker of a torch illuminating the face of Gendry. He was messing with a stick, his actions mirrored on the wall by his shadow. He startled slightly when he noticed her approaching, immediately on the defensive. Whatever had happened between the two recently, he was still unable to get over the nightmares in his head, the images of leeches and the sound of his screams. Whenever he saw her, he couldn’t help but be transported back to Dragonstone, although he was finding that other, slightly more pleasant, memories were also there in his mind now.

The young former blacksmith had been in a similar position to Melisandre as night came over Winterfell. He had been surprised at how uneasy he felt at being alone in his room, confined with hardly any light coming in. During his life, he had travelled all over the Realm, sleeping under the stars and surviving amongst the best and worst nature had to offer. When he had left King’s Landing the first time, believing he was on his way to join the Night’s Watch, which had ultimately ended in disaster. When he had escaped Dragonstone with the help of Davos, frantically rowing that little boat to whatever piece of land he eventually came across. More recently, when he had fled with the others from Ustrina’s clutches, finding himself in this situation. All of those times, he had grown more used to living outside and, now, he guessed he preferred it. There was something comforting about it, having the world visible around you. The best he could get now was sitting in the courtyard, passing the time until sleep forced him to return to his room. The soldiers had been happy to leave him to it.

Placing the stick he was fiddling with down next to him, Gendry stared at the visitor, who was equally as unsure as to what to do. Melisandre was wringing her hands, occasionally glancing at him but mostly keeping her eyes locked on the ground. He decided to take pity on her. “They wouldn’t let me have my sword back. So I had to make do,” he said, gesturing to the partially sharpened stick. “I didn't know what else to do with my time here. I never expected us to get here and now we are...I guess I’m just getting used to it.”

“I always had faith we’d arrive at Winterfell in one piece,” came her response. She was grateful for him starting the conversation. It made it much easier and more comfortable. Melisandre couldn’t remember being so unsure of herself; was that another consequence of what Bruda had done? Was it an effect of having a conscience? “Although I was more worried about actually getting in.”

“So those flames of yours aren’t working properly?” he asked, a bitter edge to his voice. “Not able to use them to predict the future now?”

Melisandre excused his tone, thinking it was perfectly acceptable after what she had done. “Even if I tried to look in the flames now, I sincerely doubt I’d be able to see anything other than the fire.”

Gendry simply hummed, obviously uncertain about whether she was speaking the truth. “I guess I have to accept that now. After I’ve seen what new powers you have.”

She rubbed her arms to fight off the cold and gestured to one of the barrels next to him. When he nodded his head, she gave him a small, grateful smile and sat down on it. There was a momentary silence between the two as they gathered their thoughts. They hadn’t been together like this since Bruda had forced them to, back at the Red Keep, an event that hadn’t gone completely smoothly. “I hope you realise that I won’t use these powers to hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it. I have changed, both in the magical sense and mentally as well.”

“You were still perfectly happy to let those soldiers die when Ustrina first attacked,” he reminded her, although there was less of a fight in his voice.

“Some battles can’t be won. Bruda would be the first to tell you that there’s no point in killing yourself needlessly when there’s no chance of helping someone. And you have to remember that it was the first time I had used that magic. There was no chance of me taking her on.”

Gendry peered at his companion, trying to see her for who she was. Almost  _ wanting _ to believe what she was saying. “But do you think you could face her now? I don’t claim to be an expert on...magic but it certainly seems that it’s grown within you.”

Melisandre shrugged. “Who knows? But, if Bruda tried to defeat her and failed, there’s little possibility of me succeeding. He’s been mastering his skill for centuries. He’d tell me to believe in myself but it’s difficult right now without him here.”

Shifting his focus from her to the ground, Gendry nodded his head. He’d seen what Bruda could do the day King’s Landing had fallen. “I suppose I should thank you,” he reluctantly said.”

She looked at him strangely. “For what?”

“You saved my life in the capital. If it wasn’t for you, I’d have ended up like those soldiers, possessed or dead. So...thank you.” He felt entirely awkward and uncomfortable but he was glad to have said it, getting it off his chest.

Melisandre smiled shyly, surprised at his unexpected comments. “And I should thank you. You were the one who stood in front of the guards when they threatened me earlier.”

“Any one of us would have done it,” he said dismissively with a shrug.

“But you’re the one who did it.”

“Well...I guess...you’re a part of our group. And that means we all have to defend one another, forgetting what has happened in the past. That doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you but maybe...I’m beginning to move on.”

She didn't say anything for a moment, hiding her emotions. “Bruda would be proud of us. All he ever wanted for us to talk and reach this point. He’d hardly believe us if we told him now.”

He smirked. “How are you...coping...without him? You don’t speak about it a lot.”

“I never thought you’d want to have a conversation with me,” she argued. “Like I said, it’s difficult. I keep making progress with my abilities and the first thing I want to do is tell him and show him before realising...that he’s not there. But I can console myself with the fact that he’s still alive. He has to be.”

“I understand. Being here, it’s strange. I once knew a girl, Arya. This place was her home. She always talked about getting home one day, constantly nagging me about it. But she never did in the end. They said she died in a fight at Dragonstone so I suppose that place wasn’t good to either of us. I almost forgot until we got here. It doesn’t feel right. Like I shouldn’t be the one who made it. Like I’ve stolen her place.”

Tentatively, Melisandre reached over and placed a hand over his own. He looked at her in surprise and she smiled sadly. “I don’t think she would see it that way. She would be proud that you survived. I know it’s not the same but you have to do the same as me. Just like I’m pushing myself to make Bruda’s efforts worthwhile, you have to keep going so she didn't die in vain.”

***********

Bruda stared out from the window in his room, trying to find out how much of the kingdom he could actually see if he tried hard enough. He had started doing this quite regularly, one of the few pastimes he had access too, which summed up how dire his life really was at the moment. Sometimes, he would spot something that he hadn’t before. An exceptionally large tree, a group of people spending time with one another. He spotted the large expanse of land that had been given to the Dothraki by Daenerys, letting out a sad sigh. When news broke about Daenerys’ supposed fate, they had naturally tried to fight against the woman who had taken their Khaleesi from them. When Bruda had heard of their desperate plans, he had rushed to meet, trying tirelessly to turn them around to stop anything else going wrong. The warlock had hoped that his standing with the people would have helped him but sheer anger and fury had prevailed. The savage tribes had marched on the city walls, only to be met by Ustrina’s new army. The Dothraki were now as much under her control as the City Watch, Kingsguard and the Unsullied. With that last defeat, that left Bruda with dangerously few allies in the capital. He would safely estimate it stood at one, Marywn being the only one he could trust. In a sense, he was happy that the old Grandmaester had stayed with him despite his initial reservations. It would have been a very lonely existence without having that singular friend by his side. That was when they were allowed to spend time together, which Ustrina tried to keep at a minimum.

Then there was Isabella. After their midnight meeting outside the dragon pit, Bruda had felt he wanted to spend more time with her, going against his fears. Ustrina didn't intervene with this matter, seemingly wanting the two to grow closer once again, to reach the point they’d been at centuries before. That told him how risky a move it was. Whatever the sorceress encouraged was something he should have been staying well clear of. Yet, Bruda had the sense that Isabella could be the key to turning things around. If she was right in claiming that she was the same woman as he had loved, then surely there was a chance that she would stand with him when he needed her to. It was a painful element of hope eating away at him, as if he believed he could break her free from Ustrina’s spell. What would that accomplish though? Remove the magic and Isabella died, that was the only outcome. He hadn’t yet come up with a scenario that involved Ustrina being defeated and Isabella surviving the aftermath. It brought home the fact that he was also wanting to spend time with her because he still thought they could have that life together again, the one that had been callously taken away from them. It was eating away at him, leaving him with little energy. Bruda had noticed his face was looking wearier than usual, the lines on his face more pronounced and numerous. Ustrina was somehow making him weaker without actually doing anything. 

The old man turned around at the sound of a bang on his door. He had grown into the habit of locking it whenever he was inside, as if a block of wood could stop his foe from reaching him if she really wanted to. Then there was a rushed knock, a frantic sound that couldn’t have come from anyone who could threaten him. Bruda undid the bolt slowly, opening the door a fraction to see who it was. Marwyn was hunched over, breathing heavily. Seeing that it was his friend, Bruda opened the door further, letting him in and immediately trying to work out what was wrong with him. The breathlessness didn't seem to be coming from over exhaustion. It was more from nerves by the look of him. His forehead was shimmering with a sheen of sweat that was dropping into his brow. With the door closed and locked again, Marwyn appeared to be recovering slightly.

Bruda had fearful images in his head of Ustrina doing something to the helpless man. “What’s wrong with you? Has something happened?” He wondered whether their  _ queen _ had decided to do something reckless, maybe choosing to expand her area of control.

“I...I had to come and see you,” Marywn managed to get out. “As soon as I saw what it was.”

“You’re going to have to be a bit clearer than that,” Bruda moaned, gently moving his companion into a chair to catch his breath better. “What have you seen?” Maybe the dragons were in danger. Or the people of King’s Landing. He had stalled too much. He had condemned them all. Now he was becoming just as agitated as his visitor.

Instead of answering, Marwyn reached a hand deep into his cloak, eventually pulling out a letter. Bruda snatched it from his grasp and stared at the handwriting on the front. He knew instantly who it was from and his emotions became confused and conflicted. Getting a message from her, it made his heart soar. But he was also immediately on high alert, wondering whether Ustrina would know about this. Had he ever been this paranoid in his life before?

“Did anyone see you come here?” Bruda asked. It came out more like a bark, an order to answer.

Marwyn gave him a cold look. “Of course they did. There are soldiers all over the place. I just kept out of their way. And made sure to keep the letter hidden where they couldn’t see. For all they know, I’ve just come to see you like I always do. They won’t know the reason for my visit.”

Bruda nodded his head, knowing it was as good as they were going to get. “Okay. When did this arrive?”

“No more than an hour ago. An ordinary raven so there’s no reason for  _ her _ to suspect anything. Like I said, as soon as I realised who it was from, I came straight to you. You’re the one who it’s addressed to. She knows that you’re the only one who can do anything to stop Ustrina.”

Bruda placed a finger on his lips to make Marwyn quiet. He waved his hand in an arc and the door glowed blue for a second, before it returned to its normal oak exterior. “Just in case anyone is outside trying to listen. We can’t be too careful. As for me being the one who can do anything about this...if that was the case, we wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place. But at least she still hopes I’m alive. Hope is the only thing we have left on our side.”

The warlock stared at the letter for a moment, fearful of what it might say. He had automatically assumed that it might be some form of good news but, for all he knew, it could be the worst thing he’d ever read. There was only one way to find out. He broke off the wax seal and unfurled the parchment, putting his glasses on the end of his nose so he could read the contents. With each word he absorbed, his eyebrows rose further on his forehead, disbelieving of the story Daenerys told. A hand went to his beard as he read it a second time, and then another time after that to ensure he understood the situation they were in. Marwyn was trying to take a look from his seated position, failing to do so. With one last glance at the letter, the only sign he’d gotten that they were all okay, he tossed it into the flames of the fire in his room, removing all trace of it.

He gave Marwyn a grave look. “First things first, they’re all okay. They managed to get away from the city, as we’d suspected, and, thankfully, they didn't seem to have too much trouble on the road.” He closed his eyes for a second as he collected his thoughts. “But they’ve taken a risk. They’re currently under the roof of Sansa Stark at Winterfell.” 

Marwyn’s look of incredulity spoke volumes. “They must really have been desperate.”

“And smart,” Bruda added. “Ustrina would never look for them there and they had no idea that she wasn't that interested in capturing them. But still...they’re at the mercy of the one woman in the kingdom who hates Daenerys with no army and no weapons at their disposal.”

“Did the letter say anything else?” Marwyn wondered, wishing he had been able to take a look himself before it had been burnt to a crisp.

“Not really. It was short, not wanting to give too much away in case it was intercepted. Jon Snow is at Winterfell too, which I wasn’t expecting. If she can get him and the wildlings on her side then maybe she’ll be okay up there.” He smiled softly as he thought about the last line he’d read. “And she says they’re all missing us, still slightly angry that we didn't go with them.”

“So they’re safe?”

“No one is safe whilst Ustrina sits on that throne. But, relatively, I suppose they are.” Bruda turned around as he ran a hand through his grey beard, trying to think of what their next step should be. “And we now know where they are so, if we need to send a message to them, we can do so. It was always paramount that they got to a fixed location.”

“So are you going to write back? Get a message back to them to tell them we’re still alive?”

Bruda suddenly had a devilish smirk on his face. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose you could say I’m about to do that.”

“I don’t like that look. What are you thinking?”

“I now know that, if I can get them out, I can tell them where to go. We couldn’t have them rampaging over the kingdom without supervision. It’s just a matter of timing now.”

Marwyn looked even more confused than before. “What are you talking about? You’re hardly making sense.”

For the first time in a long time, Bruda was filled with a strange sense of optimism, his eyes lighting up, making him look slightly younger. There was a manic edge to his expression. “That’s when you know you have a good plan. Hope isn’t the only thing we have on our side. Sitting slap bang in the middle of King’s Landing, just waiting to be unleashed. Who am I to keep Daenerys away from her dragons?”


	29. Dragons and Lineage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruda stands against Ustrina but at what cost?

He was operating under the cover of darkness once again, which was growing to be more reassuring to him than it should have been. How his life had changed, where once he had adored the limelight and being the centre of attention. Now, he was reduced to skulking around, hiding amongst the shadows as if they were his closest friends. But it was the only way to have any chance of succeeding, he knew that. And it was critically paramount that he did succeed, otherwise they could kiss their hopes of living a normal life once again goodbye. Well, as normal as life could be when you were surrounded by magic and dragons.  _ Dragons _ . That was what he was focusing on now, as he crept alongside the walls of quiet buildings, scarred by the damage Ustrina had caused. He knew there were people still inside, he could almost sense it. They were just too scared to venture outside, fearful of the unknown, the woman who had taken their city from them. Maybe they had the right idea. Only the grandest of fools would risk getting caught sneaking around whilst her army was out patrolling, almost as quiet as he was. It was a good job then that he had accepted the extent of his own foolishness a long time ago.

The citizens of King’s Landing could be seen outside during the day, as if nothing had changed and Daenerys was still queen. The stalls lined the streets as usual, the vendors trying to make a living through selling their wares. The smell of food still drifted along the streets as bread was baked and meat was cooked. The clanging of metal still rang out along the street of steel, their rhythmic beat acting as the soundtrack to the city. However, you could see it in their faces, their nervous expressions when soldiers passed by, that something had fundamentally altered. Children no longer ran about, playing with one another. Although the bread was still made and the metal still forged, production was noticeably decreasing. As soon as the first sign of night came, the stalls were closed and packed away. They were no longer living here out of choice, because it was the most economically vibrant portion of the Kingdom. No, they were still here because they were trapped against their will. The city gates had been closed and monitored vigilantly since her ascension to the Throne; no one could get in or out without her knowing, which had ruined his hopes of being able to run away and flee if things became too dire. 

Bruda wished dearly that he could save them all right now. Lead them out from the city like some great rebellion, seeing the smiles on their faces return. But that wasn’t possible. He didn't know for sure what Ustrina would do if people stepped out of line - no one had been brave enough to do so thus far so he was still waiting to find out. He got the sense, though, that, despite her assurances that her only purpose was to bring about and preserve life, Ustrina would be perfectly willing to rain down death if she had to. He couldn’t risk the peoples’ lives in the vain hope that he could help them on his own. For once in his life, Bruda was being forced to be patient. Even if he managed to succeed tonight without being noticed, a likelihood he knew he wouldn’t bet on if he were completely sane, there would still be a long time before any of the others could do anything to help him and the city. Would he be waiting forever? Maybe he would die believing that they were on their way, not realising that there was nothing they could ever do to stop the powerful sorceress. It wasn’t good to think like that. He had to focus on this first challenge and then worry about the next part afterwards.  _ If _ he got to it.

The old warlock, the hood of his cloak over his head to keep him even more disguised in the darkness, was nearing the dragon pits. He was surprised that he could remember the way there even when he was struggling to see where he was going. He guessed that taking the time to check the best and fastest route one last time before he departed had been a good idea. Bruda owed that to Marwyn, who had given him advice on how to sneak around, like he doubted that the warlock could do it sufficiently. It did raise the question of how the maester knew such skills, giving an insight into what his earlier life had been like, but those queries were for another day. Marwyn had proposed that he come with him in case something went wrong, although Bruda had wondered what assistance he would provide if they were cornered by semi-undead soldiers. Bruda had gratefully turned him down, only wanting to have his own life on the line. He had caused too much suffering already to add the maester’s name on the list.

Turning out from a tight alleyway and rounding a corner, Bruda halted abruptly when he spotted two soldiers heading in his direction. He quickly dived back into the cover the ginnel gave him, hoping that they wouldn’t be able to see him. He was at least thankful that there were only two of them there, knowing that there would be plenty more across the city. It was strange since, the last time he had done this, he hadn’t come across any guards that night. The thought cropped up that maybe Ustrina was playing games with him, already knowing what he was up to. Or it was possible that Isabella had told her about his intentions and the time she had caught him at the pits, even though he hadn’t mentioned this to her on the off chance that she would betray him. Something inside of him made him want to believe that she wasn’t capable of such an act, but that came from the heart of a man who was still in love with her ghost. He couldn’t allow it to cloud his mind when it came to her; he had to be aware of the potential threat at all times. The soldiers marched slowly past him, one Unsullied, one Dothraki. At one time, the sight of the two groups of people working together would have brought a smile to his face (mainly because Daenerys would have been so pleased) but now, it simply left a gaping pit in his stomach. They didn't notice him staring at them, looking at their blank expressions. There was no life in those eyes, no matter what Ustrina said to the contrary. It was eerie how silent they were as they walked, even their footsteps seeming to not make a noise. Bruda waited until they had turned a corner to go down another of the streets before he carried on with his progress.

When he reached the dragon pits, taking a second to look at the large structure, the sight bringing back fond memories of what Daenerys had achieved in such a relatively short amount of time, Bruda ventured down the same spot he had used last time, ducking under a low arch to get as close as possible to the open arena inside. Again, it was weird to see it when it was empty, Bruda picturing what it would look like with hundreds of people coming to see the beasts. That hadn’t happened under Daenerys’ rule, the public still too scared of the creatures, although some had been brave enough. He wondered whether it would ever happen, whether the opportunity would ever present itself again. It didn't take a lot of effort to see the dragons lying there, the only movement coming from the soft rise and fall of their chests as they slept. Even through the darkness, he could see how thin they were looking, obviously not getting enough food from their new master. Bruda feared that, even if he got them out, they wouldn’t be able to make the long trip to Winterfell or, if they did, it would leave them in no fit state to return in a hurry. It was a chance he simply had to take or Ustrina would be on that throne for the remainder of his lifetime, and probably much longer after that.

Constantly looking around, eyes shifting about as he tried to listen out for any approaching threats, the warlock placed his hand against where he knew the barrier would be. Just like last time, the section he touched glowed red, resisting the faint pressure he was applying to it. The magic was warm to the touch, sending a tingling sensation down from his fingertips and along his arm. The hairs on his arm stood up as he tried to get a measure of the power she had instilled into the defence. The dragons were a crucial advantage to Daenerys, Ustrina would have known that, so it was likely that she had spent a lot of magical energy on erecting the field. Even from his initial glimpses, he could tell that was the case. So he would have to use a lot of his own energy. Bruda sighed at the thought, having believed he’d be forced to do exactly that. He just hoped that he had enough in him to break the barrier for a long enough time to let them escape.

Closing his eyes, he shook both of his hands and spun them around lazily to warm them up. Holding them up, they began to glow, golden wisps of energy growing from his palms to stretch over his fingertips. He looked around once more, praying that he could do this quickly and before any of the guards noticed, understanding that any distraction would destroy any of his hopes of being able to do this. Gritting his teeth, wondering how he had got into this situation at such an old age, he smacked his hands against the invisible wall, wincing as soon as he did so. The vibrant red that signified Ustrina’s power was brighter this time and spread further. It seemed to let off some screeching sound as it fought against his own magic, waking the dragons from their slumber. As his energy spread further, slowly rising up, he could make up the physical shape of the barrier, a red dome appearing that covered the pit. The dragons began to move, sensing that something was happening. Pain was coursing through Bruda’s body as he forced more magic out of him until a golden line ran through the shield. Sweat covered his brow, dripping into his eyebrows and along his face. But, with a loud yell, he made one last push and a hole tore open at the top of the dome, just large enough for the beasts to get through.

“Go on,” he bellowed loudly, trying to resist the pain and tiredness in his limbs. His brain felt like it was on fire. “Get out of here. Winterfell! You need to go to Winterfell! Daenerys needs you!”

Drogon was the first to start flapping his wings, slowly rising up towards the opening. He let out a loud wail as part of the barrier singed his scales as he tried to squeeze through but, eventually, he was free and hovering above the city. The dragon roared mightily at the feeling of its freedom, beating its wings as it waited for its brothers to emerge too. Spurred on by the sight of Drogon getting free, Rhaegal came next, finding it easier to get through since he was smaller. Viserion followed close by, snapping at the tail of the one in front as if to tell it to hurry up. As Bruda could feel his energy sapping and the hole beginning to close, Hidebyo broke through with force, soaring high above the city and unleashing a large breath of fire into the sky. The warlock broke free of the magic, collapsing to the floor as he watched them fly away, hoping that they had understood his instructions.

He was beginning to slide down against the cold stone wall when the marching came within earshot. Bruda sighed as he forced himself up again, going against everything his body was screaming at him. Four dragons flying above the city were always going to be noticed, even if he had had some faint hope that they’d be quieter than they had been. With the barrier now back up and restored to its original strength, and Bruda too tired to even contemplate trying to break through it for a second, the warlock was cornered down in the small alley as a group of soldiers arrived, weapons facing him ominously. He had the sense that their policy was to act first and then ask questions later. But the fact remained that he had worked with these men before, probably having seen them multiple times, so he didn't want to be forced to hurt them. Or even worse. It was times like this when he missed his staff since it gave him something physical to use to defend himself, especially as he looked at the swords, spears and Arakhs they were wielding. 

“Gentlemen,” he said loudly, his hands facing them to show he had no weapons (maybe they wouldn’t remember that he had certain powers). “I’m glad you got here so promptly. I saw the dragons had escaped from my window and came running here as fast as I could. Our Queen will be most displeased at this and whoever conspired to make it happen. I can only offer my assistance in finding and capturing the culprit so that our queen can rest peacefully without the fear of enemies lurking nearby.”

Their expressions didn't change, showing no sign of believing what he said. Did they have the capacity for their own thought, he wondered, thinking it would benefit him greatly if they did. The soldiers didn't seem to be like the other people Ustrina had brought back, such as Isabella or from what he’d gathered about Khal Drogo and Tywin Lannister. Whereas they had been (or still were) near perfect replicas of the original person, the army she had created appeared to lack individual personalities and characteristics. The men in front of him were empty shells, zombies moving to her every command. Bruda guessed that it made sense since it ensured they never questioned her instructions, always willing to do whatever it took to make sure she got what she wanted. In that sense, they resembled a more extreme version of the programming Unsullied soldiers had gone through to become the best fighters and army in the known world - it was fundamentally impossible for them to go against the wishes of their master. Yet, as he stared at their soulless eyes and blank expressions, Bruda could see just how much they went against everything Ustrina had said to him. Her assurances that all she did was create life...this was as far away from life as you could get without being dead.

“Frankly,” he continued, frantically thinking of anything he could say to get him out of this tricky situation, “I have to say that I’m disappointed in you. Your entire job is to stop things like this from happening and yet...here we are. It’s not going to be my neck on the line when she hears about this. You failed her and there is no greater crime, is there?”

A couple of the soldiers, evidently tired of his talking, took a few steps towards him. He was even more aware of how trapped he was as they began to close in on him. “Now, now. There’s no need to be so menacing. We’re on the same side, aren’t we?” Still no response - he was beginning to doubt that they could actually talk. “I’m your only chance of surviving this mishap, how about that? I’m the only one who can convince our dear, benevolent queen that it was just a simple mistake. No one needs to get hurt today.” Still they came ever closer, more of them joining in to surround him. Feeling that his energy wasn’t at the desired level yet, Bruda realised that this was going to be even more difficult than it had to be, giving up on the hope that he could bargain with them. He wasn’t about to show them that they had any chance though and he smirked devilishly. “Fine then. If you’re going to be so unreasonable then so am I. Trust me, this is going to hurt me more than it does you. If that’s any comfort to you.” 

He swung his arms down, sending a shockwave of magical golden energy pouring out from his body. The pulse shot out and fired into the soldiers, sending them flying into the air. Some went straight into the walls surrounding them, dropping their weapons as they fell unconscious. A couple were flung out from the alley onto the dark streets beyond, equally as stunned as their fallen comrades. With a wince and a grimace, Bruda started to walk away, limping slightly as his efforts began to catch up with him. He was far too old for this job now. He tried his best to pick up the pace but he was unable to reach a fully fledged run - it was more of a jog than anything. His first instinct was to get as far away as possible from where their bodies lay; he wasn’t too concerned about whether they were dead or not, knowing that, whatever damage had been done to them, it wouldn’t compare to what they’d already been through.

Shouts came from one direction down the main street (telling him that they could at least make some form of noise, although now wasn’t the best of times to be evaluating their abilities) so he promptly headed down another side street. On he went, hobbling, desperately needing the support of his staff as he feared he could fall over at any given moment. And that would likely cause quite a bit of noise, which would probably prove fatal for him. The last thing he wanted was to be turned into something that resembled the soldiers now pursuing him. Heartless creatures with no conscience to guide them. The issue was that they were still imbued with the knowledge they’d held before they’d died, the skills they’d acquired as seasoned fighters. They would track him down soon enough and he had to be ready for when that happened.

Bruda came to a sudden stop as another trio of heavily armed men came charging past him just as he was about to emerge onto the street they were on. He stumbled backwards into the shadows, watching them go. He knew that there were too many of them for him to get to safety but maybe he could take some out with him. Anything to annoy Ustrina or disrupt her plans. Although it didn't matter how many he killed - she could replace them ten fold with a wave of her hand. The only way to kill the beast was to chop off the head but he was far too weak to do that just yet. 

Going against his instincts to hide, the warlock pursued the three soldiers he’d just seen. From their uniforms, he could make out that they were members of the City Watch (or had been, he still wasn’t too sure about the logistics), making them easier targets. Although they could still wield a sword as well as the next man, they weren’t as rigorously trained as the Unsullied or savage and mad as the Dothraki. Keeping them in sight and trying to keep his steps as light as possible so that they didn't echo against the cobbled street underfoot, Bruda slowly crept up on them. He was doubtful of whether he could take them out in a straight up fight so he had to find some other way of dealing with them. Thankfully, they were approaching an abandoned inn (the owners were probably inside, hiding like everyone else. It made him wonder whether anyone was watching his plight, confused as to what he was trying to do. Would they be rooting for him against their oppressive capturs or would they just see him as an old fool who was fighting an unwinnable battle). Acting quickly, he waved his hand again and the wooden sign for the establishment swung off from its hinges, firing into the trio with an abundance of force, knocking them to the ground. For a second, he was allowed to revel in the sight that they weren’t moving but then his body gave way for a second time, a fire spreading through his chest and, this time, he fell to the floor. He was on all fours, staring at the wet ground beneath him, breathing heavily. Was this it? Was this his final act? He had so much more he wanted to do. He wanted to see Daenerys and Jorah get married after all the work he had done to help them get together in the first place. He wanted to see little Shireen grow up to be the fine woman he knew she would be. And he wanted to tell Melisadre how much he loved and cared for her. Were they just faint dreams now, the fantasies of an old, dying man? Each breath was growing to be more difficult than the last, taking up more of his energy.

He was faintly aware of the sound of running feet coming towards him, the rest of the army probably having heard the commotion. They sounded distant against the rush of blood in his head, his heart beating tremendously. Bruda turned his head to look at the approaching mass of people. He couldn’t tell how many of them there were but it was a lot. He could have laughed. Look at how they still feared him, the man who was on the ground before them, no energy left to fight. They were still worried that he could do  _ something _ . In truth, he had the faint hope of that happening too but, deep down, he knew that wasn’t possible. But this was so undignified. He wasn’t going to go out like this, not on a dark night on an abandoned street with no one he cared about around him. And he certainly wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of letting them see him at a moment of weakness. Instead, he stood up shakily, which took up even more energy, a resource he had scant little of. And he smiled at the soldiers, his arms outstretched.

“She won’t want you to be the ones to do me in,” he said, a loud whisper more than anything else. “Go on then. Take me to your leader.”

**********

Jon ran a hand through his scruffy long black hair as he paced around his room, nervously waiting to see if she would come. Sansa had been far from happy with him after his outburst in the meeting, not hiding her feelings when she told him he had ruined her position of power over the new arrivals. She believed that he had given them credibility they wouldn’t have necessarily had, making it easier for the northern people to believe their wild stories. Although Jon had understood where her anger was coming from, clearly seeing the consequences of his actions, he hadn’t cared about her ire. Annoyed with how she had been speaking down to him, when he was the older of the two siblings, the leader of the Free Folk told her, in no uncertain terms, that he had no concern about the political games she was attempting to play and be a part of. He had turned the focus back onto her, claiming that, if she had her priorities right, she would have been more worried about what he had witnessed and been through with the resurrection of their father. Sansa had been visibly shocked by his outburst, Jon’s tirade coming to an end when he’d said she was no longer the woman he had known and cared for as a sister and, if she wanted any help, she would have to divert away from the path she was going through. He had even brought up what had happened to Stannis Baratheon when he alienated himself from those around him, using his deadly fate in the capital in the hopes of making it clear to Sansa how she had to change soon, unless she wanted to end up like him. Then he had stormed out from her chambers, ignoring her shouts as he focused on more important matters.

A few days had passed since that encounter and he hadn’t seen the lady of Winterfell since, which was a blessing really. It allowed him to concentrate on how he broached the next issue that faced him, which was the cause of his pacing now. Daenerys’ arrival meant that, if he were to stick by his earlier words, he had to tell her about the new information he’d been presented with. Having been around the mother of dragons quite a few times, he knew perfectly how she would likely react and so he needed to be careful. Jon had no plans to be roasted alive any time soon, even though she was not accompanied by her dragons. She would find a way, he feared. With the sun rising and pouring through the window in his chambers, Jon had woken up knowing that his pattern of stalling and avoiding these problems had to come to an end. A resolute determination forcing him to act, a fire burning away in his heart, he had sent her a summons, asking her to come as quickly as possible, hoping that the tone he used conveyed the urgency the situation required. Jon understood that she would no doubt not appreciate being instructed to do someone else’s bidding but he would be able to explain that when she arrived. That was if she came, another cause of his agitation. He was sure that, if he continued to walk in a small circle like he was doing, he would soon wear away the stone underneath his feet.

The knock at the door that he was waiting for eventually came and he let out a loud sigh of relief, silently thanking the old gods for making her agree. Daenerys had a frown on her face as he opened the door, her expression not changing even when he gave her a small smile. She entered the room once bidden entry and scanned her surroundings carefully, suitably on edge. When she had received the early message, her first instincts had been to think it was some sort of trap set up by Sansa, using her brother as a form of bait. She had recognised his handwriting from previous correspondence, lending it some credibility, but her concerns had remained. Jorah had thought along the same lines as her when she had shown him the letter, wondering whether it would be best to accompany her to this private meeting. They may have been granted access to the castle, which usually conveyed a promise of not being harmed by your host, but they had no knowledge of the lengths Sansa was willing to go to in order to triumph. Yet Daenerys had told him that she would go alone, trusting that Jon wouldn’t be complicit in a betrayal of her trust, a sentiment that her knight didn't agree with, begging Daenerys to change her mind. If her life was lost in such a pointless way, in such an avoidable setting, then their whole cause would have been for nothing. And, if he were alive, there was no telling how Bruda would react once he heard. It would do more damage than good, that was for sure. However, Daenerys had ordered him to allow her to go, giving him a chaste kiss before leaving and instructing that, if she were not back within the hour, then he should fight his way to her. Jorah didn't know how he was supposed to do that when he didn't have his sword on hand but he also knew that nothing would stop him from saving her if she were in trouble.

“I’m such you have a suitable reason for making me come at such an hour,” she said in greeting as she stepped into the room. There was a chill, with the fire having been allowed to become low embers, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her neck to fight off the cold.

“Yes, I do. I do,” Jon assured her, scratching the top of his head as thoughts tumbled together, preventing him from being able to form the words he wanted to say. “I need to talk to you.”

“That much is evident,” Daenerys quipped snidely before she took in his nervous demeanour and agitated movements. She gave him a sympathetic smile as she sat down, Jon remaining standing as he took up his pacing again. “Is this about your father? Or whoever you saw that night? I know it must be confusing. I barely understand any of it. If you’d told me a few months ago that I would be hiding here in sanctuary, I would never have believed you.”

Jon, thankful for this divergence in topic, was happy to discuss the other strange experience he’d had recently. “It...looked like him. And sounded like him. It wasn’t like with the White Walkers or Wights, where you could tell that they had changed and been...mutated. If I hadn’t known that he was dead, I would have happily believed that it was actually him.”

“It’s a cruel trick, isn’t it? And so effective. We try to move on from our ghosts and yet now they return to haunt us.”

“You told us that you had fallen victim to it too. Who did you see?” Jon wondered.

“My love, who died years ago in the Eastern part of the world. He appeared in my private chambers, looking the same as the day he passed on to the next realm. Ustrina brought him back to life, if it could be referred to as such, in an attempt to bend me to her will, I have no doubt of that. We had fled the city before I saw him again but he still visits in dreams when I least expect it.”

“I’ve only seen my father once. I ran from him, too scared to confront what he stood for. But I have so many questions to ask him that I almost...want to see him again. Is that strange?”

“I don’t think so,” she assured him, feeling sorry for the man in front of her. “That’s the poison of what she concocts. The temptation to give in, to believe that they’re real. That’s why Bruda couldn’t find it himself to warn us sooner...because he desperately wanted it to be a good thing.” Daenerys peered at Jon closely. “Did your father want anything?”

“Not that I could tell. Although I didn't give him the time to explain himself.” he could have laughed if the situation wasn’t so bleak. “I think he may have just wanted to talk to me, explain something maybe.”

She was confused at his flippant explanation. “It just doesn’t make sense why you have been affected, so far away from where Ustrina is. I would have presumed there was a motive for that. But there are many other people who understand magic better than I do.”

Jon thought back to a conversation he had had far beyond the Wall. “Oslen, the wildling who travelled with me...she believes all magic comes from a tree she showed me.”

“A...tree?” Daenerys asked in a whisper, a section of her premonition coming back to her. Other parts had come true so was her vision of the large tree going to be useful too? She would bring it up with Jorah when she returned, hopeful that it might help them in their plight. Or maybe it was just something else that could go against them.

“It was silly really but I could almost feel something strange about it. I could ask her about it, if you want, to see if she knows anything else.”

“That would be helpful, thank you,” Daenerys said with a small smile, although her mind was now elsewhere. “Whether there is a reason or not for your experiences, it surely shows that Ustrina’s powers are increasing. Which gives us even more reason to fight and stand against her.”

“You know that I will always do that, no matter what Sansa says. She has always been wary of my...loyalty to you.”

“I can’t say that I don’t appreciate it though. If another war is to come, I will need your people more than ever.”

“And you will need to trust me.” Jon let out a sigh, knowing he couldn’t avoid it anymore. If he didn't say it now, he doubted whether he ever would. “Which is why I must tell you something. The reason why I asked you to come.”

Daenerys was put on edge by the sudden change in his tone, sitting upright as she looked at him. “What is it?”

“You may have been wondering why I’m here at all. Sansa asked me to come, saying she had vital information. And I believe what she told me is true.” Jon stopped his fidgeting now, staring right at her. He owed it to her to be upfront with this. “There has always been a mystery surrounding who my parents were. My mother was Lyanna Stark.”

Daenerys’ eyes lit up in recognition, a sadness conveyed on her face. “Everyone always told me that Rhaegar was a good man, who enjoyed singing and dancing. And then they said he...raped her. I could hardly process such infor…”

“No,” Jon cut her off. “He loved her. They married in secret. When Rhaegar fell on the Trident, she had a son.” He ignored the growing darkness on her face. “Robert would have killed the baby if he ever found out and Lyanna knew that. So the last thing she did, as she lay bleeding to death on her birthing bed, was to give the child to her brother. Ned Stark...to raise as his bastard.” He was breathing heavily now; her eyes were wide and fearful. “My name...my real name...is Aegon Targaryen.”

Daenerys stood up, creating a distance between them. “That’s impossible.”

“I wish it were.”

“How did Sansa know this?”

“Bran saw it before he died and he wrote it down. The works of an old maester confirmed it.”

“Doesn’t it seem strange to you though? That Sansa discovered this secret, previously unknown by everyone...don’t you think she could have created this myth to turn you against me?”

“I thought that too. But I know it’s the truth.”

“If it were true,” she bit out slowly. “That would make you the last male heir of House Targaryen. You would take the Throne from me.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong. You’re right to think that Sansa wanted to use it to divide us, to make us enemies...but it didn't work. I’m telling you all this because I don’t want any of it. I don’t want the responsibilities, I don’t want the crown, I don’t want the throne. All I want is for you to rule.”

“If people were to find out...they would never accept me as their ruler. Surely you would know that.”

“Which is why I intend to bend the knee.”


	30. Captive and Subservience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruda's actions have consequences, whilst Jon chooses his side

The only reason he knew that it was a new day was because of the amount of light that poured into the room when the door was opened. Up to then, he had been consumed in a world of darkness, a realm devoid of life. The cell he’d been put in had no windows apart from a slit in the locked wooden door and, although there were a few torches dotted along the damp walls, his captors had not chosen to light them, increasing his discomfort. The floor underfoot was covered in a thin layer of hay and straw, making his prison resemble more a sty than somewhere a person would sleep. That would imply though that he had gotten any sleep throughout the night, which hadn’t happened in the slightest. Regardless of the nonexistent comfort the straw gave, he doubted whether he had the capacity to sleep, too afraid that that would be when she would come to torture him. It was only a matter of time before that happened and, judging by the fact that the door was open and soldiers with impassive expressions were walking, the moment was fast approaching. He made no noise at their presence, no shouts or vain attempts to bargain with them. His experiences with them so far had proven to him that it would be a worthless waste of energy. And that was a commodity he was severely lacking in.

Bruda had been put in the cell overnight, which had initially surprised him. After giving himself in to the encroaching army, also pleasantly relieved that none of them had chosen to kill him there and then and be done with him for good, he had half expected them to take him straight to their ruler so that he could be questioned. And, ultimately, condemned to execution. But Ustrina had seemingly told them to stall his inevitable fate, presumably wanting to continue her slumber instead. It was probably a way of messing with his head, the usual root cause of her actions, making him wait longer. Meaning that he had spent the lonely hours in his cell constantly thinking about what would happen. He realised that, in a sense, he had already done most of the torturing for her. 

Two soldiers, spears in hand (that was the only thing that told him they used to be members of the Unsullied since their gaunt faces looked all the same to him now), approached him and undid parts of the chain that had tied him to a wooden post in the centre of the room. They had cuffed his hands together too when he’d first arrived as an extra precautionary measure. Normally, it would have been extremely short work for him to make them fall off, only taking a quick click of the fingers. But, after the effort he had put into freeing the dragons and then fighting off his opponents, he hadn’t wanted to waste any of his last reserves on something so frivolous. He put up no fight as they dragged him up by his arms, forcing him to stand. If he attempted to fall, which he really wanted to do (more because it hurt to support his own weight more than doing it as an act of defiance), they would simply hit him until he got back up. Compliance was the easier, and only, option.

The only consolation that Bruda got, apart from being freed from his solitary companionship, was that ustrina had sent far more soldiers to escort him to where she was waiting than was strictly necessary. Surely she knew that he was growing too weak to put up a fight and he certainly wasn’t capable of doing any damage when he was in the Red Keep, closely monitored and supervised. The fact that she had taken this precaution meant that, deep down, despite her pretences and air of confidence, there was still a part of her that  _ feared _ him. It was only natural. If it was true that she had somehow watched him across parts of his life, especially in the recent past, then she had every right to be apprehensive of what he could do. Many men had stood against him and hadn’t been able to tell the tale afterwards. Ustrina was stronger than those men but he was still looking for that weakness everyone had, that one point he could potentially utilise. Yet he felt like he was no longer the man she had been monitoring.

Two guards awaited their arrival at the doors to the throne room of the Keep, eyeing his procession with the same level of emotion as usual; strictly none. They marched him into the chamber, where he immediately saw Ustrina sitting on the throne, waiting for him. It was still a sight that made his blood boil, hoping he would live to see the day when Daenerys was there again instead. Judging by the look on the new queen’s face, which was a mixture of anger and sadistic joy, he doubted whether that was going to be at all possible. The second thing that caught his attention was Marwyn sitting up on the floor, his face clearly bloodied and bruised. Bruda instinctively tried to rush to his side, wanting to examine the extent of his injuries, fearing what horrors the maester had been put through on his behalf. Yet, as soon as he attempted to move out of line, one of the soldiers swung their spear and hit the back of his knees, causing the warlock to yell out as a stinging pain shot through his body and he fell to the ground in a disgraced heap. The man, if he was still that, moved to pick him up but Ustrina held her hand up, evidently enjoying the show that was happening in front of her.

“No, let him go to him,” she instructed, her voice echoing around the mainly empty room. “He’s no threat to us.”

Bruda didn't acknowledge her acquiescence, knowing that she wasn’t doing it out of the kindness in her heart. The old man knelt by his last remaining friend in the capital, softly holding his head up. From first looks, he doubted that the injuries sustained would be anywhere near fatal. Whoever had done this had done so to inflict pain and nothing else. He could only imagine the sheer anguish the other man was going through and he felt an indignant rush of guilt swell in his chest. He had caused this. Yet another person who had suffered because of his actions. 

He siphoned that guilt into righteous anger as he stood up again, staring directly at his oppressor. Her expression was just as unphased as her henchmen, which only aggravated him further. “You know...this isn’t the way to go about things if you want me to be cooperative.” There was definitely an edge to his voice now. He hadn’t felt this much fury for a very long time and yet there was nothing he could do about it.

She let out a small laugh, showing how little she was afraid of him. Or how little she was afraid of him on the outside. “Any hopes I had of you being  _ cooperative _ were sadly dashed by your actions last night.”

There was no downside to trying to claim he hadn’t been doing anything. Ustrina probably knew it had been him to let the dragons loose, which meant it would annoy her more when he denied that irrefutable act. “I tried telling your mindless zombies exactly what happened. I saw the dragons out of their enclosure and I rushed to help. I was trying to assist you and the fact that I have been punished because of that...well, you’re not exactly creating a supporting atmosphere around here, are you?”

“The barrier was breached by an extensive amount of magical energy. As soon as it happened, I could sense it. The magic sustaining it was still connected to me. So how would you explain that?”

Bruda gave her a nonchalant shrug, pulling a nonplussed face. “How should I know? Maybe there’s another person in the city who can use magic.”

“Do you think that’s possible? No one has entered the city since I took control of the Crown.”

“Maybe one of the citizens is secretly a warlock. You just happened to appear out of nowhere. Why can’t someone else do the same?”

“Enough of these pointless lies!” she shouted, clearly angered by the way he was acting in front of her. “You did this! I allowed you a perfectly acceptable degree of freedom. I allowed you to live because I believed you could be a useful tool for me. But this act of defiance clearly shows that your allegiances remain with the former ruler and I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that that will never change. I would commend you on your loyalty if you hadn’t put my life at risk.” She sent him a challenging look when he was about to say that that had been the entire point of his endeavour, Bruda wisely choosing not to voice that. “You’ve grown to think that anything you do won’t be punished and you certainly seem to have little regard for your life.”

“That would understandably happen when you strip away its worth,” he shot back.

“In that case, the only way to make you suffer to a suitable degree is to target those you care about. Look at your friend on the floor. So close to death. A pitiful excuse of a creature, so weak, so fragile...so mortal. All it would take to finish him is a spear through the heart.” She nodded her head and a soldier moved over to Marwyn’s body, standing over him and wielding his weapon. Bruda could see the maester’s eyes look up in fear, unable to do anything through the pain.

“Stop this!” the warlock bellowed, holding up his hands. He didn't want to lose another life. “He had no part to play in this. This was all my idea. He actually told me not to go through with this. Take his life and you show me for sure that your message of working for the prospects of new life is a cold lie.”

“Bruda,” she said softly. “Life and death are so intrinsically linked to me that they may as well be the same thing. As for it being your fault, that’s true. This poor man is innocent but it’s high time that you learn that your actions have consequences.” She gave another nod of her head and the soldier plunged his spear straight through Marwyn’s chest. He tried to shout out in agony but his voice was drowned by the pool of blood that came bubbling out from his mouth. Bruda made himself watch, forced to stay where he was with guards pointing their weapons at him. He watched as his friend struggled helplessly, his hands attempting to cover the fatal wound until, eventually, he stopped moving. 

“Take his body away,” Ustrina ordered. “His life will be restored promptly when I see fit. That’s the power I have, Bruda.” The man in question had his head bowed in sadness, vowing to avenge Marwyn’s pointless death when he got the chance. He could already feel this loss fuelling his inner magic, its force trying to spill out. “You should count yourself lucky, warlock. That I chose to kill him instead of Isabella, the woman you truly love. Stand against me again and you’ll watch the same thing happen to her. And I’ll ensure it will be even more painful.”

**********

Sansa stormed through the doors into the main hall of Winterfell, closely pursued by Petyr Baelish and Lyanna Mormont. Her face was the epitome of fury even before she saw the scene in front of her. How dare he have the audacity to summon her! When she was the Lady of the North and the ruler of the House. When one of her own soldiers had arrived at her chambers, telling her that Jon had requested to see her, along with the rest of her council, she had politely sent the messenger on his way. Once he was gone and out of earshot though, she had launched into a private tirade, yelling about how her power was being undermined. Sansa had known straight away about what topic this meeting would revolve around, her face going ashen at the implications. She was seriously regretting telling him the secret. She should have known that he would use it against. She should have known that he would never follow her instructions and fall into line. Littlefinger had told her exactly that but she hadn’t wanted to believe it was possible. As she met the steely gaze of her brother, Sansa understood that it was no longer just a possibility.

The hall was deathly silent when she entered. Jon was in the centre, with Daenerys close to his side. Sansa couldn’t stop the scowl that appeared on her face. Jorah and Davos were flanking their queen, as Melisandre and Gendry stood further towards the corner of the room, watching the events unfold. Tyrion and Varys, along with Missandei, were all nervous about what was about to happen, the two political game players trying to figure out the likeliest of end results as they waited for someone else to start the talking. Oslen, her face impassive, was off to one side, not fully joining in. Jon, knowing that it was down to him to take control of the situation, took a step forward, not surprised to see that Sansa made no attempt to move closer. She was standing her ground, creating a clear divide between the two groups. She had always thought that his loyalties might lean towards the blonde woman, a man driven by lust rather than political nuance like she’d hoped, but to see his allegiances highlighted so obviously stung. She refused to show the hurt she was feeling, although her eyes screamed of the pain of betrayal.

“So I see you’ve made your choice as to who you stand with,” Sansa remarked with an icy tone. “After all I’ve done for you. After the support I’ve given you. I can’t say that I’m not hurt by your actions.”

Jon shook his head, letting out a sigh as he took another step forward, trying to bridge that gap she’d made. “This isn’t about choosing sides. I’ve made it clear to you that I’m not picking between you and Daenerys. Because you’re not enemies! We’re all working towards the same goal, to rid another element of evil. We only managed to defeat the Night King because we stood together despite our inherent differences. That’s the only way we win this time too. I’d hoped that you’d realised that by now.”

“Are you going to explain why you have summoned me then?” she asked, completely avoiding the points he’d made.

“I’ve already told everyone in here what you told me the other day. Because they have a right to know and I didn't want to hide it in the first place. I presume you’ve already told these lot…” He gestured to Baelish and Mormont with a nod of his head.

She glanced at the members of her council. “They were the first to know. I needed advice as to how to approach this situation. You’ve only told them because you know it would annoy me.”

“No, you’re wrong again. You wanted to use my own heritage against me and I took that power away from you. It’s high time that you understood that you can’t be playing these games and expect it not to crumble in front of you. You looked at me and saw me as a pawn for you to manipulate, not a man, not your brother. The fact that you’re clearly not ashamed tells me all that I need to know. That you’re no longer the woman I knew.”

“Careful, Jon,” she warned. “Insulting me will not get me to join your side.”

“Again with the talk about sides!” he yelled, fed up with the lack of progress. “You’ve made yourself delusional. You don’t even hear yourself saying it.”

“Jon...you know that all I did and said was designed to help you. I wanted the best for you. That’s always been the case.”

He looked at the ground in sadness. “I really wish that I could believe that. But you wanted to use this to help yourself and your political position. With me on the throne, you expected to be able to get what you wanted. But that will never happen. I told you what I would do once I saw Daenerys again, our rightful queen. And you’re going to be witness to it, along with everyone else, so that it can never be disputed. We can put this issue to rest and move on.”

Jon was already turning to face Daenerys before Sansa yelled out, a hopeless last ditch effort to make him change his mind. “Don’t do this, Jon. You’re throwing away  _ everything _ . Everything you could ever accomplish if you just think for yourself for once.”

“I’m doing exactly that and I’ve never been more sure of a decision.” He spoke with his back to her, signalling that he had already moved on from her disputes. Jon stood in front of Daenerys, who gave him an expectant look, mixed with an encouraging smile. She knew how difficult this must be for him but she was obviously glad that he had reached this decision. When he had broken the news to her, that instant moment had seen her world crumbling around her. Everything she had worked for was on the line. She had thought that it was being taken away from her and there was nothing she could do about it. If it had been anyone other than Jon she was dealing with, she would have been consigned to that fate. But, thankfully, he had quickly made it clear how little she wanted her Crown. Once everything was sorted, if it ever was, Daenerys vowed to reward him in some way for the show of utter loyalty.

Jon slowly moved down to the floor, resting on one knee and looking up at the woman in front of him. Staring at her, he knew he was making the right choice and he was no longer worrying about how Sansa felt. He was putting the Realm before himself, something his sister was failing to understand. “Daenerys Targaryen, recent revelations tested the basis of my loyalty towards you. But you, and always will be, my queen. Nothing shall change that. No name can be given to me that shall warp my allegiances. No person can manipulate me to voice a different opinion. I stand before you as Jon Snow, and as Aegon Targaryen, last male heir of the Targaryen name, and I relinquish all claims to the titles that name brings with it. I relinquish my right to be king of the Seven Kingdoms as long as you, or your future heirs, rule this Realm. I also vow to use all the power and might I have available to me to ensure you are placed back on the Throne. I swear on my life that I will help make that happen, working alongside you for as long as necessary.”

“You may rise,” Daenerys said softly, keeping a serious expression on her face even though all she wanted to do was smile and hug him tightly for what he had just done. “I thank you for your show of loyalty and I promise that it will not be forgotten.” She turned to look at Sansa, who appeared to be close to tears. “This changes nothing about our relationship. I told you that I would work with you once this ordeal is over, to see if your hopes can be met, and I am a woman who keeps my word, Lady Sansa. The fact that your brother has done this, even though you may have resisted it and attempted to stop him, only benefits your cause. I hope you realise that.”

Sansa’s expression was unmoving, her face a stony mask. Rather than respond to Daenerys, she focused her attention on Jon instead. “You have got what you wanted. We’ve reached a new level of subservience towards her. Don’t run to me crying when she forgets you once she has used you.” With that, Sansa spun on her heel, leaving the room. Baelish dutifully followed but Lyanna hesitated, looking between Daenerys and Jorah. They couldn’t read her expression and, before they could ask any questions, she was gone as well, leaving the other group on their own.

“Well,” Davos sighed. “That both could have gone better and gone worse. That seems to be the constant state we’re in.”

“What do we do now?” Jon asked, wanting to get things started, put things in motion. Oslen was staring at him from the corner curiously, in a manner that he couldn’t understand.

Daenerys was speaking before he could wonder further about what was her problem. “We plan our course of action. I think it would be beneficial to write to Bruda again, to see what the situation is like.”

“We still haven’t received a letter back from him,” Jorah pointed out. “He may not have received it or it may have been intercepted.”

“Which is exactly why I want to write again. I’m tired of Ustrina dictating what we do. We take the fight to her or lose.”

**********

A day had passed since Jon’s shock bending of the knee and no one had seen Sansa since. That wasn’t too surprising, given how she had reacted to the event and his supposed act of betrayal, but also wasn’t what they had wanted. Jon, in particular, had hoped that she would see how their differences needed to be put aside for the time being, a temporary pause on their animosity more than anything else. Once the battle was done, if it did come to a battle like he naturally expected, then they could return to loathing one another, her and Daenerys. Yet his sister had been too blinded by her stupid anger to see sense; maybe then, it was a good thing that she was keeping out of their way. It had allowed them to plan to a certain extent how they should approach this threat, understanding that conventional means of warfare were out of the window. During the meeting, there had been a tendency to look towards Melisandre for advice on how to deal with magic but, in most respects, she was just as clueless as them. Everything hinged on getting a message back from Bruda as soon as possible but, as Daenerys had made clear, that still was yet to happen. The longer they had to wait for a response, not only did their chances of victory dwindle, but their faith that the warlock was still alive also plummeted. 

There was a cool breeze swirling through the courtyard as Jorah and Daenerys slowly strolled through it, their arms interlinked as they enjoyed this rare moment of being together with no one else around. The one positive that had come out of Sansa’s apparent confinement meant that the scrutiny they were watched with had lessened to a certain degree. Although they would sometimes catch northern soldiers watching them out of the corner of their eyes, it was usually just a quick glance, not a constant surveillance of their movement. It allowed the pair to walk with a bit more freedom, which they had both been wanting to get back. Jorah could tell that Daenerys was still apprehensive about the future and it was perfectly understandable. Even though she had always been a strong woman who rarely showed any weakness, her world had been turned upside down (not for the first time) and the level of damage that could do to a person psychologically was not to be underestimated. The fact that she was still able to walk about and smile was a testament to her inner steeliness and determination to triumph.

“You seem quiet, Khaleesi,” he said softly, breaking her from her thoughts. Her expression seemed to show that she had almost completely forgotten where they were for a second.

“I was just thinking,” Daenerys replied evasively, not even convincing herself that everything was okay. “It’s quite prudent to collect one’s thoughts. Especially when you can’t control anything else that’s happening around us.”

Jorah nodded his head in understanding. He knew how much she wanted to dictate events - since Khal Drogo (a name he didn't dare mention after her recent experiences) died, she had been in charge of the direction her life took. Until little more than a few weeks ago when everything she had built tumbled around her. “Are you thinking about last night? It was a momentous occasion. Varys wouldn’t stop talking about how it would be written about in history books at some point.”

She cracked a small smile, which he saw as some much needed progress. “I can’t not think about last night. When Jon told me...I’m pretty sure that I went through every conceivable emotion. Rage, fury, bitterness, sadness. I was ready to overreact and say that he was trying to steal the throne, that I could never be queen if he was alive. Because I honestly believed all that since that’s the way society has always worked, against people like me. But…”

“But then he managed to actually talk about it with you,” Jorah helped, knowing how she didn't like pointing out the mistakes she’d made. 

“Exactly. And I began to see how he wanted this less than I did. He’s sacrificed so much to ensure I remain queen if we get rid of Ustrina. He’s a good man.”

“That he is. And an important ally to have too.” They were still walking and, for a moment, it appeared that Daenerys was slipping back into silent thought before she noticed Jorah looking down at her again. “You’re also thinking about him.”

Her face looked pained. “We should have heard  _ something _ from him. I’d cherish even a short letter saying he was okay, forget him giving us any information about what’s happening there. The only reason he wouldn’t have sent a raven back is because he’s…” Daenerys couldn’t finish the sentence as the realisation hit home, her heart feeling like it had been stabbed. “And I’m starting to think that I’ll never see him again and, the last time we were together, I was  _ so _ angry with him. That’s how I’ll remember him, the memory tainted by unjust fury.”

Jorah held her tighter to him. “You can’t lose hope. I know it sounds easier than it is but it’s vital. Just because we haven’t got anything doesn’t mean something bad has happened. Ustrina may have intercepted it  _ or _ it’s still on its way. You know how unreliable birds can be sometimes.”

“I pray that you’re right, Jorah, otherwise I might never get over…” Daenerys paused, standing still as well as she concentrated on something. Her companion was giving her a peculiar look, wondering whether she had fallen ill all of a sudden. The hair on her arms was standing on edge, a tingling sensation running along her bones. “Don’t you feel that? There’s...something in the air. Something familiar.” Renewed with a reinvigorated sense of hope, Daenerys looked towards the large gate in front of them, walking bristly through it as Jorah followed close behind, still confused. She looked up to the sky, shielding her eyes from the bright sun as she tried to make sense of the shadows swarming amongst the clouds. There was warmth returning to her body, a fiery heat. That was coupled with a series of mighty roars as she finally caught a glimpse of one of the dragons. She was clutching Jorah’s arm tightly in excitement as he realised what was happening.

The bellows of the beasts hadn’t gone unnoticed and, as they flew closer towards the ground, others had emerged from the castle. Some soldiers, fascinated and scared by the sight, stepped out from the tall stone walls to watch their descent. The group that had travelled with Jorah and Daenerys also appeared, smiles on their faces at the brilliant sight. Jon was last to arrive, Oslen not far behind. The wildling’s look of bewilderment was priceless. Drogon landed first of the four, his feat connecting heavily with the ground, kicking up the melting snow. Daenerys was already running to him as the other three followed his example, letting out more roars as they touched down, visibly tired from the long flight. She had been expecting to see that they were skinny and underfed but they appeared like they had their usual levels of energy, especially the leader of the group. She wondered which farm had lost its livestock in strange circumstances recently but, at the moment, she couldn’t care in the slightest. Her children were home and it was a clear message from the man she had been worrying about so much.

“There’s your response,” Jorah said happily. “I think you can take that as confirmation that Bruda got your letter.”

“The warlock has never been one to do things half-heartedly, has he?” Tyrion wondered. Despite not being on the best terms with Bruda, he was still grateful to see this. For the first time in weeks, he believed that they still had a chance, a glimmer of hope. 

“Can we start planning then?” Jon asked. He was still nervous around the dragons but not as much as Oslen as he forced her closer, wanting her to see their beauty up close. Rhaegal appeared to sniff at her suspiciously, baring his teeth in a gutteral snarl. 

Daenerys looked at him. “We can do more than that. You mentioned a tree not long ago, one you believed held the core of all magic. If we were to go back, do you think you could point me in the right direction?”

“I think so. Oslen would know for sure where to find it. But why? Why are you so concerned about it?”

“Because I had a premonition, not for the first time. And I saw a tree being burnt, along with everything else that has gone wrong. Bruda supposedly turning against us, a red-haired woman standing in our way, a black-haired man threatening my throne. Ustrina and you, Jon. I saw it all coming but I never knew what it meant until it happened. Apart from now. Maybe that is the key to defeating Ustrina.”

“It could be nothing though,” Tyrion pointed out sceptically. “And you’d end up being even further away from the Crown than now.”

“It’s a risk I’ve got to take. I’ll give them a break before flying now but I don’t want to waste a lot of time.” She noticed Melisandre standing close to Viserion, stroking the scales of his face softly. Daenerys walked up to her and the warlock stared into her eyes. “You know what this means? That he’s alive. You were right to say that he’s too stubborn.”

“I know,” Melisandre replied with a brief, genuine smile. “But he would have been noticed. He might be in even greater danger.” She gave Daenerys a pointed look, glancing between her and the dragon. “Is he alright to fly?” 

Daenerys didn't have to respond as Viserion roared again, signifying his acceptance. Yet Daenerys was still unsure. “You’ve never flown on one before.”

“Bruda liked to say that he had a connection with this one. If that’s true, then maybe I do too. But I have to try. You need to go and find out more about this tree. If it’s true what you said, you need to destroy it. No matter the cost.”

Daenerys nodded her head and Melisandre began to skilfully climb onto the dragon’s back. The others, who hadn’t heard their conversation, looked on in bewilderment but the mother of dragons gave them a look that told them that their questions could wait. “Good luck.” And then the dragon was in the air again, heading back where it had just come from.


	31. Distractions and Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon tries to find out more about the tree in Daenerys' vision as they prepare to leave Winterfell

Jon only knew that Oslen was in the room with him when she slammed the door closed. Startled, he practically jumped out of his skin, turning around to glare at her in annoyance. She seemed nonplussed about his anger, which was usually the case. Instead, she sauntered over, Jon trying his best to not watch the way her hips swayed when she walked, interested in what he was working on. Splayed across a table were a number of books, all open to pages that he had been scribbling in. Working with Maester Capaldi, he’d gone through the library of Winterfell, travelling deeper than he’d even known was there under the castle, searching for any piece of information he could find about the strange, mysterious tree that seemed to be vitally important. Ever since Daenerys had pointed out its potential significance, he hadn’t been able to do anything other than think about it. Was it the only way they could defeat this Ustrina woman, a threat he still hadn’t seen? How would it beat her? How would they destroy it if it was, indeed, magical? Was it just a normal, average tree that had been glorified to greater heights through old tales and fantastical stories? The more he looked into, the more questions that came up for him, niggling away at the back of his mind. And, the more he managed to learn, the more tired he grew, losing patience at the lack of progress.

It was understandably difficult to find any mention of the large tree in the records they kept. On occasion, he would see one mentioned and hope it would be the one he was looking for but, so far, he didn't think he’d found anything of serious interest. He hadn’t expected much to begin with; the chances of any of his predecessors having any experience of it was low. Maybe if they had been at Castle Black, he would have found out more about it, with rangers surely having stumbled across it before. If Oslen could find it so easily, then he believed that others must have too. He had considered at one point whether it was prudent to send a raven to the men of the Night’s Watch, asking if they could find anything. But a raven would take at least a week to get there, then they’d have to spend time searching through their library (if Samwell had still been alive, he would have had more hope of them finding something since he knew the place like the back of his hand), and it would have been another week for the raven to get back. With the strange Melisandre already on her way to King’s Landing on the back of a dragon, the last luxury they had was spare time to waste. So he’d continued to work on his own, apart from the occasional help from Varys. The closest he had come to making a serious breakthrough was when he had taken a quick look through the book Bran had left behind. He still felt a certain level of unease when he touched it and didn't really trust it, even if it had enlightened him about his origins. The only tree he had mentioned was the one the Children of the Forest had used to create the Night King, a rather disturbing story, especially the first time he’d read it. There was simply no way of knowing if that tree was the same as the one he had been shown and Daenerys had seen in her vision. He had told her regardless about this new fact, giving her something to think about. Jon sincerely hoped that it would be of some benefit.

Oslen had moved over to the table, looking at the books, clearly bored by the sight. Jon had mixed emotions; he knew it was his duty (no one had said it was but he’d come to think that it was) to continue searching so that the misery could finally end but he also wanted to spend time with the woman next to him. Since he’d started rifling through dusty old tomes, he knew that he had shut himself from everyone else, especially Oslen. Jon understood why she was here - he hadn’t been looking forward to this, actively finding ways to avoid her. But she had the fire of a wildling and there would be no denying her this confrontation.

“You’ve been reading these books for far too long now,” she muttered, leaning against the table. She was actually wearing fewer clothes than usual, only a couple of woollen layers covering her body. She evidently felt this ‘North’ was significantly warmer than the north she knew and lived in. She flicked through one particularly large book, putting it down in disgust when she saw how small the writing was. 

“I’ve got to,” he replied testily. “You know that. I’ve already told you that. And you...distracting me...will only make this go slower.”

She decided to not comment on her intrigue about  _ how _ she was distracting him. “When you first told me about this  _ brilliant _ idea you concocted, I didn't realise that it would take up so much of your time. When was the last time you properly took a break, besides stopping to eat? I’m not even sure you’ve done that much.” She stroked his arm softly, a far cry from the annoyed persona she’d been using. “I’m worried about you.”

Jon shrugged away her hand, stepping towards a book that he hadn’t looked at for a while, hoping fresh eyes would reveal something new within its text. “There’s no need to worry.” Even he knew that wouldn’t pacify her. “Not about me, anyway. You should be preparing for the journey back north. Fretting about me reading some books isn’t a good use of your time.”

“But this isn’t the man I know!” she yelled. “You don’t just stay in your room all day, your head in a fucking book! You’re meant to be the leader of the Free Folk yet you’re reduced to this skulking...husk of what you normally are.”

“What do you want me to do about that?” he shouted back, frustrated that she wasn’t seeing how important this was. “If we don’t find out more about this thing, then there’s no way of defeating Ustrina! I would never be the leader you think I am again because everyone will be dead. Is that what you want?”

“...of course it isn’t. But...tell me...have you found  _ anything _ ?” From the look on his face, Oslen already had her answer. “Exactly. You’re the one wasting your time. You don’t know a thing about this tree or even if it is remotely magic.”

“You’re the one who claimed it was,” he shot back. “Or are you backtracking now?”

She laughed coldly. “How would I know if it was magic? Do I look like a sorceress? You felt its energy just as much as I did so don’t pin this on me. It’s nothing more than an old wive’s tale. Something passed down to tell your children when they’re falling asleep.”

Jon shook his head as he ran a tired hand down his worn face. “I don’t believe this. This is the one thing that we can cling to in the hopes of actually winning. And what? Are you trying to take that away?”

“Of course I’m not,” she assured him softly, some of the anger leaving her body. “I’m just...keeping you in check. I don’t want you getting your hopes up so high only to fail. Especially when it’s not your responsibility.”

“Isn’t it?” he wondered, genuinely curious about what her answer would be. He wanted to believe her so much.

Smiling at him, Oslen shook her head. “It really isn’t. You revoked your right to the Throne, which I think was the right decision. And that means your duty to this kingdom is over, no matter what anyone else says. I doubt this Ustrina will bother with anything beyond the Wall. Wouldn’t it be nice, just us two going back home?”

Jon was staring at her and, for a moment, she thought he was going to agree, her task a success. But then his smile turned sad. “I tried running away once. I tried to ignore their pleas and cries for help but look where I am now?” He gestured to the room with a wave of his hand. “I don’t think I have it in me to leave them, especially when they need my help. Daenerys helped us when we needed it last time. I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I betrayed my friends like that.” He couldn’t maintain eye contact any longer with her, instead focusing on another book. “Maybe it’s best if you leave me to it again. I’m sure there’s  _ something _ hiding in here. Somewhere.”

He turned his back to her, inciting an indignant rage in her heart. Oslen slapped the book from his hands, hearing it land heavily with a thud against the stone floor. “Stop reading these fucking books!” 

Jon turned around quickly, towering over her. He grabbed hold of her arms and, although she tried to struggle a bit, it was no use. His grip was tight. “Oslen,” he practically growled. “What would you want me to do instead?”

“Focus on me instead,” she replied breathlessly. 

With that invitation, Jon leant down and smacked his lips against her. It was hungry and passionate, pent up emotions seeping through. Clumsily, he shoved her against the wall, pinning her diminutive form underneath him. It seemed to only spur Oslen on as she kissed him almost desperately, having wanted this for so long. She was clawing at his clothes, trying to get rid of them. He started doing the same thing, despite knowing that he shouldn’t have been so easily distracted. But the way her body felt, the way her lips were warm and her breasts were firm...he couldn’t stop himself. The castle may have been cold but they were supplying enough heat for one another, even when their clothes were stripped. They both stopped for a second, admiring one another’s bodies before starting again with renewed vigour. Reading could definitely wait.

**********

“I should be coming with you.”

Davos had been pestering them for at least an hour as they made their final preparations to leave Winterfell and head further north. They had allowed only a couple of days to pass for the dragons to recuperate and get their strength back for the long flight but now time was definitely against them. Daenerys had been focusing on nothing else, ordering hourly reports from Jon to see if he’d learnt anything about the mysterious tree he’d spoken about. With every account coming with no new information, her frustration had continued to grow. If it hadn’t been for Jorah’s constant presence by her side and the welcome arrival of her dragons to care for, she was sure that she would have lost her mind with each passing second. 

They were currently standing just outside of the castle walls since there was no chance that the great beasts could fit inside the courtyard. Daenerys was stroking the large snout of Drogon, a puff of warm smoke billowing out every so often. She would smile when that happened, seeing her hair blow softly. With how nervous she had been on the journey to get to Winterfell, it hadn’t really sunk in how much she had missed her dragons. Even though, in King’s Landing, she would not see them every day, with them mainly staying in the pits or flying somewhere beyond her eyesight, she had at least had the comfort of knowing that they were near and safe. Daenerys would be forever grateful for Bruda for helping them to escape their cruel confinement. Now, if he could just hold on for a bit longer and, with a bit of luck, she would be able to tell him that in person. The mere notion that that was potentially not a possibility was the main thing spurring her on in this endeavour. And there was a fire inside of her that was keeping her going, a strange feeling that she was right about this tree and the crucial role it was destined to play. 

Bags were lying on the ground around them, some of them already hooked onto the back of Drogon. Supplies of food were shoved inside, along with spare clothes to keep them warm in the snowy conditions they were bound to face. Daenerys was already wearing her thickest cloak, a tight white coat that covered the entirety of her body. Jorah, attaching another bag to the creature, was in all black, gloves on his hands. That was to protect him from any sharp scales that he didn't see as much as the cold they were expecting. A sort of farewell party was surrounding them as they made their final checks. Tyrion and Varys, who themselves had expressed the sentiment that they would be of no use in this endeavour, were waiting to send them off whilst Missandei ensured Daenerys had everything she would need. Despite not being near her for the foreseeable future, it was still her duty to care for her Khaleesi. Bronn had said his goodbyes earlier, stating that there was no point in him ‘freezing his bollocks off’ as he waited for them to leave. He had always had such an eloquent way with words, Tyrion had remarked snidely. 

“I’ve already told you that there is no reason for you to come,” Daenerys explained once again to the former smuggler. “We’re taking Drogon and that’s it. So there’s no room anyway.” She patted his shoulder affectionately, still grateful that he had offered and was obviously willing to help in any form he could. “I’ll need you to look after the others. Rhaegal and Hidebyo will keep you fully occupied until we return.”

“And how do you suppose I care for two great beasts without your experienced help?” he wondered bitterly, still believing that he would be of more use joining their expedition. Maybe that stemmed from always being second in command when he had served Stannis Baratheon, going with him wherever he went. Old habits die hard, he guessed.

“Carefully,” she replied with a teasing smirk, messing with him. It was a side that Davos had never expected to see in her but something that had only grown with the success she’d earnt. Despite his annoyance, he still found it enjoyable to see her so carefree, especially in this sort of situation. “In all honesty, if you make sure they are fed and allow them to fly when they want to...I don’t know how you would stop them but that’s another matter entirely...then you’ll be fine.”

“What if you walk into trouble though? A tribe of wildlings could mistake you for someone else and attack. Or maybe this tree really is magic, which would probably mean it’s defended. When an army of the undead suddenly appears, which I really wouldn’t bet against with the luck we have, then you’ll be wishing that you had an extra pair of hands by your side.”

“I thought you said once that you were useless with a sword?” Jorah pointed out, nudging him with his shoulder before picking up another bag. 

Davos was at a loss for words for a second as he frowned at the knight. “That’s not the point,” he grumbled. “If not me, then at least Gendry. He’s a fine young lad and he’s been chomping at the bit to do something ever since we got here. He’s a mighty fine fighter too, Bruda would tell you that himself. You wouldn’t harm your chances by bringing him with you.”

“Ser Davos,” Daenerys said softly. He knew he had no chance when she referred to him as a ‘ser’ since it signified she wanted no more argument about the topic. She was extremely good at hiding her opponent’s defeats in the words she carefully chose. “I am tired of fighting. This is why we are choosing this option rather than waging war across the Kingdom. One blast of dragon fire and this could all be over. I won’t risk any more lives than I desperately have to. Jorah’s only coming because I would never hear the end of it if I left without him.”

“I think that’s a blatant show of favouritism towards your fiance,” Davos joked. 

She placed a gloved hand on his cheek. “I appreciate your efforts and how much you care for my safety. But you also have someone else you need to think about.” Daenerys nodded her head towards where Shireen was standing by the wall under the careful gaze of Varys. She sent them a small smile when she noticed them looking at her.

Davos bit his lip in defeat. “Very well. Don’t think I didn't see what you did there, using her against me. The one weakness I have left remaining in this world.”

“She is the opposite of a weakness, Davos. She is your greatest strength. Now...you can complain about my ethics once I return. Otherwise, I think it’s high time that we took the final steps in defeating Ustrina.”

“You better return,” he said in warning, his voice deep and grave. 

“I won’t let her take any risks,” Jorah assured him. 

Davos nodded his head and took a step back, not wanting to be anywhere near the dragon when it started to lift itself from the ground. Jon, pursued by Oslen, approached the creature, the latter tentatively stroking a hand over the rough skin of Drogon. He seemed to bristle at her touch, on edge. Daenerys put it down to her being a new person and stepped in to quiet him down, settling the mighty animal. 

“When will we know when to stop flying?” Daenerys asked the two of them. She was only just beginning to realise that she had never been beyond the Wall before. It was as good a time as any for new experiences.

“Just head north until we see the wildling camp,” Jon instructed. “It sounds easy because it should be. We won’t be able to miss them, they encompass so much area of land.”

“And once we get there, you’ll be able to help us find this tree?” Daenerys posed the question to Oslen, who looked up in surprise. 

She slowly nodded her head. “Although I still think that we should discuss whether this is entirely logical. Come on...a tree that is magic? It doesn’t make sense and we could be wasting time by going to it.”

Daenerys let out a disgruntled sigh. “I’ve had enough of people telling me that this isn’t a good plan when they don’t have any other ideas. We’re all out of options. And I’ve seen too many wondrous and horrifying things to not believe that this is possible.” She stopped for a moment as Jorah put a hand on her shoulder, attempting to calm her down. She closed her eyes and took a breath. “Logic has very rarely played a part in my story and I’m not about to take my chances with it now.”

“Very well,” Oslen relented begrudgingly, still looking like she wasn’t happy about this decision. 

The four of them began to climb onto the back of Drogon, using his scales strategically to support their feet. Jon slipped a few times but Oslen, who he still hadn’t spoken to properly since their  _ interaction _ , was surprisingly nimble and skilled, managing to get up without once threatening to fall. They were soon all on top, Daenerys seated in front of Jorah to control Drogon when she needed to, Oslen sitting in front of Jon, leaning into his embrace. 

Tyrion approached them before they left. “When will we know if you’ve been successful?” he shouted up to them, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. He could barely get over how bizarre this situation was and how strange it was that he was so comfortable being around a dragon, when his youth had mainly been spent by fantasising about them. 

“When we return,” Daenerys replied simply. “Maybe we’ll be able to send a message from the wildling camp but I wouldn’t wait for anything. Who knows...maybe you’ll be able to feel it in the air once it’s done.”

“And...I know I shouldn’t be bringing this up but...what if something was to happen to you all? We wouldn’t even have any way of telling.”

“If we are gone for more than a week, then it’s safe to say that we failed and this is the last time you’ll see us. And, if that happens, then I give you one order: run. Run as fast as you can and as far away as possible. Do not let Ustrina get you. For once, think of yourselves and ensure you survive. Then, at least, our efforts won’t be in vain.”

“As you wish, your Grace,” he said dutifully with a sombre bow of his head. “But I still have the utmost faith that you’ll succeed.”

“Keep believing that and maybe we will.” With that final comment, she patted the head of Drogon and he began to beat his wings, a gust of wind tumbling around them with every beat. He slowly started to rise above the ground and, with the others watching and waving and the two remaining dragons looking up in curiosity, they flew away from the castle of Winterfell for what could prove to be their final journey.

**********

They had probably gotten some strange (and likely fearful) looks from the ground as they flew but she didn't care in the slightest. They could run and tell Ustrina that she was coming but she had no qualms with that. As the fire returned to her, Melisandre felt that no force in the world could prevent her from saving the man she loved. How long had it been since she last saw him? Time had melded and morphed into one recently, days becoming indistinguishable from the last, their meaning lost as she adapted to life without Bruda. But now she had a renewed purpose and a dragon beneath her, soaring through the air. It was its own form of magic in itself, the way they glided against the clouds. Viserion had sailed over mountains as if they were molehills, had flown over forests and made them look like blades of grass. The adrenaline coursing through her body had driven her on in her pursuit, waiting for the moment that King’s Landing came into view. What she did then, she didn't know but that didn't matter. All that concerned Melisandre was that she got there in the first place.

The two of them had grown to know each other’s characteristics, Viserion knowing what she wanted from the specific way she stroked her hand across his scales, Melisandre understanding what he needed from the sounds and roars he bellowed. They had only stopped once, far away from any people in the hills. They had both needed the rest. Melisandre’s hair was wild and unkempt, giving her an almost animalistic personality that matched the dangerous glint in her eyes. She had conjured food for the great beast, a trick she had seen Bruda do many a time when he wanted to show off. The memory had made her uncharacteristically sentimental as she’d spent the night reliving memories as they played in her head, before sleep took her in its grasp. Then the journey had commenced again with even greater vigour. 

Soon enough, the ground below grew to be familiar to her from what she could make out. The Kingsroad ran like a scar through the countryside but it was just as empty as it had been when they’d travelled along it. If the people weren’t terrified of the shadow of the dragon in the sky, then they undoubtedly were petrified of the monster that awaited them in the capital. It reassured her that she was doing the right thing, that Ustrina had no redeeming qualities in her eyes. That said, there had been no chance of Melisandre seeing the other woman in any different sort of light. As they got closer, she couldn’t help but worry that she was too late. She didn't know the false queen at all so she had no knowledge of how she would react in the face of such an open act of betrayal. Bruda was a skilled warlock with decades worth of knowledge so surely he could handle himself. The fear was that Ustrina was just as powerful as he’d claimed. 

Melisandre couldn’t remember if she had ever been so relieved as when she saw the sight of King’s Landing in the distance. Its tall stone walls barricaded it in, an enormous concrete monument to rulers from the past. She knew this was as far as Viserion could go, not wanting to start a war that she could not win, even with his might behind her. She had seen how easily Ustrina was able to create an army that was unrelenting in its mercilessness. Her only chances of getting to Bruda was stealth, along with discreet uses of her magic. It was safe to say that she would be experimenting with her powers but there was no better time to take a risk. She had nothing to lose. 

She made Viserion slowly descend towards the ground, the dragon landing in a clearing in a large forest. There were no houses around that she could see, although Melisandre knew that the Dothraki camps were nearby. It was unsettling to hear none of the usual cries and jeers from them, telling her that Ustrina had already gotten to them. How many people had she put under her spell now? Carefully sliding down the dragon’s back, Melisandre landed softly on the ground. It was strange to feel something under her feet after so long in the air. She smiled reassuringly at Viserion, stroking his snout in a silent thanks for getting her to this point. Instructing him to stay within the confines of the forest to reduce the chances of him being seen, hoping that he would somehow understand and listen to her pleas, she began to walk away, rummaging through the trees and low hanging branches that messed with her hair. Her legs felt slightly shaky as she progressed further, not knowing whether that was down to the lack of walking she’d done up to this point or the overwhelming fear that was beginning to grow in her stomach. 

As she cleared the trees, coming onto the Kingsroad, she was even more glad that she wasn’t in her customary long red dress, knowing that it wouldn’t have survived the trip. Now, she could walk through muddy puddles without a care of messing up her clothes, no standards to keep anymore. Her eyes settled upon a lone man who was tending to a broken cart along the path, shouting at it as he tried to reattach a wheel that had fallen off with little success. She approached him, startling him when he stood up and noticed her presence for the first time. He wasn’t a very intimidating figure, nowhere near the definition of tall and a head of mousy brown hair that was beginning to bald. Dressed in rags, she knew that he was someone who was clearly struggling but any wishes she had to help him were undercut by her need to complete her job.

The man gave her a curious look, taking in the state of her appearance. “Now, where did you come from? Looking like that and all? You seem like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. The Kingsroad is no place for a woman like you to be travelling alone. You won’t survive a day.”

Melisandre ignored his comments, her gaze falling on the wheel rather than on him. “Your cart is broken. Do you need help fixing it?”

His expression turned even more dubious. “Pardon me, love, but I doubt that you’ll be any help with this. No offence.”

“None taken,” she replied bitterly. She chose not to remark that he’d had minimal success so he wasn’t really in the position to refuse any form of help. “If I mend your cart, will you use it to take me to King’s Landing? I have business to attend to there.”

The man frowned. “Business there? No one’s had business there for months, not since that woman arrived. I tell you something, I wasn’t that big a fan of that Targaryen woman but she’s a lot better than this crazy witch.”

“Be that as it may, I still need to get there and it’s an awfully long walk. We’d be helping one another if you agree. I get taken where I want to go and you get a wagon restored to its previous quality.”

“I ain’t going anywhere near that place so I’d start walking if I were you. I didn't ask for no help from you.”

Melisandre let out an exasperated sigh, wishing he had just agreed. It would have been so much easier. “Remember that I did try to ask when people wonder how you lost your only form of transportation.”

His gaze darkened. “Are you threatening me?” It was said mockingly, a laugh in his voice as he took a few steps towards the cart, picking up a small dagger from within and pointing it towards her. “I’d like to see you try anything. Although you are rather pretty so I’ll have some fun with you before putting you out of your misery, freak.”

The trees behind Melisandre started to rustle and shake and the man’s complexion turned a sickly pale. The snout was the first to emerge before Viserion’s fiery eyes came into view. His jaw opened, displaying rows upon rows of sword-like teeth, sharp and glinting in the morning sun. The man cowered behind his cart, the dagger dropped as he sat there shaking.

Melisandre towered over him, Viserion’s large frame casting a shadow behind her. “When you claimed that I was alone, I probably should have corrected you.” She was enjoying this far too much, watching the regret in his eyes, the fear washing over him. There was a distinct smell of urine that made her nose scrunch up at the pungent aroma. “There might have been a time in the past where I wouldn’t have thought twice about killing a person like you. But, instead, I’m simply going to let you run away as I take your cart. That’s all I ever wanted.”

He was running away before she’d even finished, tumbling to the ground a couple of times in his haste. Viserion looked toward him, evidently questioning whether to pursue the target. Melisandre smiled at the dragon, clicking her tongue. “I thought I told you to stay hidden.” The animal appeared nonplussed at her chastisement. “Never mind. Thank you for saving me a bit of bother. But now I really mean it. Stay here until I return. I hope it won’t be long but I can’t promise anything.” She waved her hand and the broken wheel instantly found itself back on the axis, the cart operational again. She began the short journey towards King’s Landing, leaving Viserion behind, hoping that, the next time she saw him, she would be happier than she was now.


	32. Reunions and Belief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melisandre arrives at King's Landing but is she already too late to save Bruda from himself?

Melisandre brought the cart to an abrupt halt as she neared the city walls, staring up at the towering outposts that would no doubt be closely stationed by guards. The one issue with Bruda sending a dragon instead of a simple letter, barring the over abundance of bravado, was that it meant she was going in blind, knowing no specifics of the situation she was about to face. For all she knew, there might not have been any soldiers at all. Ustrina may have slaughtered them all in a fit of rage or an act of political survival. She didn't want to admit that she was nervous although her heart rate had certainly increased the closer she got to the city. When she had fashioned herself as the Red Woman, it had involved always portraying a cool and calm demeanour, so much so that Melisandre had begun to think she was above such insignificant things such as fear and anxiousness. Focusing on those emotions wouldn’t help Bruda though, she understood that.

She left the cart behind a group of trees, hoping she would remember where it was just in case she needed a hasty exit. Keeping close to the brick walls, Melisandre walked around the perimeter carefully, not making any sound. It had been deathly silent when she’d arrived on Viserion and it was just as eerily quiet now. At one point, she risked looking up to stare at one of the towers, spotting a trio of guards all trained in the turret. They were motionless as they carried out their duty, staring out into the distance, waiting. Waiting for what, she didn't know. Someone like her most probably, an assailant, a rebel. Fearful of getting their attention if she stayed in one place for too long, Melisandre kept moving until, stopping periodically to survey the changing scenes and scenarios.

Before long, she had reached the point she’d been looking for, the tunnel they had used to escape the first time. It smelled just as horrendous and, inside, it seemed equally as dark and dingy as when she’d last crawled through it. The only difference was that thick metal railings had been placed at the front of it, preventing anyone from getting in. Ustrina had evidently figured out the main weakness that the Red Keep had and Melisandre would have cursed her luck if it hadn’t been for her abilities. She grabbed hold of one of the steel bars, closing her eyes in concentration as her hands began to glow. It felt almost as if the metal turned to liquid upon her continued touch, bending to her will, malleable and fluid. Without a lot of effort, which gave her confidence that her magical powers were reaching their apex, Melisandre was able to bend the bars far enough for her to fit through, remembering to transform them back to normal in case anyone decided to check on the defense. 

Not stopping to congratulate herself on the small victory - it also gave her hope that Ustrina wasn’t so infallible if she’d neglected to remember that she wasn’t the only woman with magic coursing through her body - she walked through the water (well, she hoped that it was water), not liking how her footsteps were echoed along the endless cavern with every splash she made. Melisandre was forced to resort to small steps to decrease the frequency of that, making her progress even more painfully slow. She scrunched up her nose at the repugnant smell, knowing that no magic could charm away the odour. It was only halfway through this stint of her journey that she remembered she could rectify one problem she had, conjuring up a ball of pure light to guide her on her way. It was still difficult to determine where she was, with the tunnel looking exactly the same at every point. When she had been fleeing, she hadn’t had the foresight to leave markings for her future self. Hindsight was always so annoyingly clear. It also seemed to her to be a longer walk than previous, the tunnel appearing to go on forever. Maybe when they had been running for their lives, the adrenaline being pumped around their bodies had made the journey feel a lot shorter.

Despite this, she eventually came to a small opening that she seemed to remember, pressing her slender body against the stone walls to fit through the tight passageway. Light flickered in the room beyond, allowing her to cease her magic. The chamber she emerged into was instantly recognisable even though it was somehow even dirtier than when they’d been the occupants of the castle. A gigantic dragon skull stared at her through eyeless holes, its decayed teeth still ominously sharp. If she hadn’t just been flying on top of one, she would have been mystified by its size and magnificent presence. The remains still spoke of a creature of wonder even in death. Now definitely inside the castle, she could focus on the one death she wanted to see. It was a strange sensation to know that she was inside the same building as the woman who had tried to destroy everything she had, who had done so with minimal regard to how it impacted other people. The callous monster was hiding away somewhere. If she was inclined to do so, Melisandre could wander the castle until she found Ustrina and kill her where she stood. No. The priority for the time being had to be Bruda.

A spiralling stone staircase led her away from the depths and dungeons of the stronghold, closer to her goal than ever before. Each step was meticulously planned and calculated, avoiding anything that could make a sound and give her presence away. She came upon a door that was thankfully unlocked, slowly pushing it open until she could see through a small gap. There was no one around in the immediate vicinity, persuading her to take a few steps into the castle proper. She was on high alert now, which was saying something with how cautious she had been so far, as she listened for anything that would give her a warning of someone approaching. It was just as quiet as the rest of the city but it felt more sinister. Melisandre could practically sense the  _ evil _ that was living in the castle, a sickly presence swirling around her. Was this how Bruda had been living for months on end? Kept awake by the constant knowledge of a powerful darkness never being too far away? It sent a pang of sadness down her spine as she contemplated the suffering he had likely been through.

Yet she had to press on, understanding that staying anywhere for too long would increase her chances of getting caught. It felt strange to be back inside the Keep after being away for so long. But, contrary to that, it also felt that no time had passed since they’d abandoned their home. It looked the same, everything was in the same place. She could remember the directions she needed to go down, weaving her way through the web of corridors as if she knew the place as well as the back of her hand. When she came to any corner, she would pause and tentatively look around to see if there were any guards. There had been none so far but Melisandre knew that her luck wouldn’t hold for much longer. The deeper she went, the likelier it was that she would run into trouble. And that was exactly what happened as she neared Bruda’s chambers.

She knew that Bruda hadn’t been moved to another room somewhere else when she saw the large group of soldiers standing outside his door. She couldn’t help the smile that flickered on her face as she realised it meant Ustrina was still wary of what he could do, regardless of how powerful she claimed to be. It also meant that Bruda was still alive, which sent a massive wave of relief and joy over her. At the thought, she felt her magic swell and burn hot in her blood, wanting to be released. It needed more nuance than that though with how many opponents she faced. Thinking on her feet, she took a step back and cast a spell against the wall she was facing, making a small noise. As hoped, one of the guards walked over to where the distraction had come from, impassive and emotionless. As soon as he was around the corner, away from the gaze of his fellow soldiers, she acted quickly and, with a wave of her hand a burst of golden light, he tumbled to the ground, Melisandre quickly cushioning his fall with a field of energy so that his tumble didn't alert the others. She risked glancing around the corner again, happy to see that they were all still standing there as unmoving as before. She repeated the action a couple more times with equal levels of success before there were only three soldiers left in her way. 

Melisandre believed that it was a manageable number to take on, relieved that the others had seemingly been messed with so much that reasoned thinking was beyond them. If she had been facing normal soldiers, she knew that the trick would never have worked so well. It was no time to be questioning her fortunes as she created a ball of raw energy and fired it straight at them, firing them against the wall with a sickening crunch. Were they dead? Had they been alive before she intervened? She didn't stop to ponder those questions as she opened the door, dragging the unconscious soldiers in with her so that they wouldn’t be found.

Her eyes instantly landed upon him as Bruda spun around in alarm. He froze at the sight of her, seeing her brilliant smile and teary eyes. His hands shook as he raced to meet her in the middle of the room, grabbing hold of her tightly and exuberantly. The warlock stared into her eyes before slamming his lips against her, momentarily losing themselves in the sensation after so much time of waiting. But, as he broke away, his eyes were unsure, fearful. Melisandre cast him a questioning gaze, unsure why his demeanour had changed so much.

“No,” he whispered hoarsely and it was only then that she took in his appearance, how scruffy he was, how gaunt his face appeared. “No. It’s not you. It can’t be you. It’s another trick by her. And I won’t fall for it this time.” And Bruda held his hand towards her, energy flicking around his fingers ominously.

***********

Drogon was rather perturbed by the snow when he landed, the unusual sensation reacting with his claws as he moved about. At least, as he spun around in confusion, kicking up clouds of misty white, it managed to make Daenerys smile slightly. It was a moment of carelessness, a moment of unbound curiosity, that was at odds with the situation they faced. The dragon had no concept of the danger they were facing, even if she sometimes thought he somehow knew. He was simply enjoying this new experience, melting a patch of snow that had angered him for some reason. It also meant that he was occupied as they ventured through the snow-capped trees and into a large clearing, hugging their clothes tightly as they tried to adjust themselves to the horrid level of coldness. Before them sat the large camp of the Free Folk, tribes upon tribes living with one another. Maybe not harmoniously all the time but better than what it had been a decade ago. Jon was a bit surprised that it was still standing, having had unspoken fears that his absence would give someone who had aspirations for more power and authority the opportunity to cause divisions amongst the group and split them based on their loyalties. He would have to thank Tormund for holding everyone together when he saw him.

The journey beyond the Wall had been relatively uneventful. Daenerys had wanted to get to their destination as soon as possible, pushing the dragon beneath her to its limits, so much so that Jorah had been forced to intervene and tell her it was best for everyone to have a break. After a while, they all grew accustomed to the awkward arrangement on Drogon’s back although conversation remained limited. Daenerys was too focused to talk about anything other than their mission and Jon had never really spoken to Jorah enough to make small talk easy. The wildling leader had instead concentrated on the woman in front of him, who was equally as quiet. Oslen seemed stressed, agitated almost. Her demeanour grew worse and frostier the closer they got, confusing him greatly. Was it that she didn't want to go home? Had something happened there that had made her want to come with him, a relative stranger at the time? She wasn’t the sort of person to discuss private matters so there was probably something troubling her that he didn't know about. Jon didn't want to intrude but also felt that they had grown close enough to confide in one another. It was possible that he was simply kidding himself with his hopes of them having forged some sort of relationship. He felt he’d gotten his answer whenever he tried to wrap his arms around her in flight, only to be met with her body going rigid at his touch.

Now, she was sullenly walking behind them, slowly falling behind as her face was stuck in a stern expression. Jon had no way of knowing what was wrong with Oslen but, frankly, he had more important things to deal with. Although he didn't voice his complaints, not wishing to upset her in any way. He just had to wait until she was ready to open up, if that ever happened. A warring mind adding to his confusion, he continued to plough on through the snow, already picturing the warmth of the tent that hopefully awaited them. Despite her small stature, Daenerys made easy work of gliding through the mounds of snow, practically gliding over them as if she were flying like one of her dragons. Jon was ready to ask whether she’d inherited those powers too before he nearly slipped on a hidden ice patch, forcing him to focus on more pressing matters. One wrong move, an awkward slip or surprise trip, and he would be out of action and unable to help them. The last thing Jon wanted was to be a burden for the group, especially when he claimed to be a leader of people. Why couldn’t he have been born with the grace of Daenerys? He was a Targaryen after all so surely they shared some qualities and characteristics. The reminder that he was of the same blood as the woman walking in front of him made him remember how awkward he’d felt once he’d found it after having previously felt some rather un-sibling-like emotions towards her. Thankfully, he hadn’t acted upon those desires, more out of cowardice rather than a sense of honour.

Stumbling past the last outcropping of trees, they were able to see the camp properly in all of its glory. Smoke billowed from fires and tents as people milled about, carrying food and wood, transporting supplies from one end of the camp to another. The settlement went on for miles, Jon knew, so he felt sorry for the people who had been given that task, usually the fittest of men who could survive the long, arduous walks. They honed in on the largest tent erected, walking through the crowds to get there. People stopped what they were doing when they realised who it was, some being brave enough to shake the hands of Jon and Daenerys, many of the wildlings recognising her from the battle against the White Walkers. It wasn’t something that one was likely to forget. Some shouted at them, wondering where they had been and why they were here now. They could all sense a semblance of panic beginning to spread amongst them as they presumed her presence meant another war was upon them.

The tent was exactly how Jon and Oslen remembered it. The fire sat in the centre, pouring smoke through the small hole in the roof. Thick logs were placed around it where some people sat eating or having discussions, pausing in their act as they stared at the newcomers. Daenerys spotted Sandor Clegane in one of the corners of the room, looking ever more wild than the last time she’d laid eyes on him. His hair and beard were long and unkempt, showing signs that he’d started to give into the way of life that was accepted in these parts of the world. She smiled at him but didn't get one in return; the Hound nodded his head grimly and she presumed it was a better response than what most people got from him. 

Tormund had his back to them, unaware of their presence until he picked up on the silence that had quickly descended. Spinning around to ask what was the matter with them all, his gaze landed on Jon first, a large, wild smile appearing on his face as he bared his dirty teeth. “Bastard!” he yelled in glee, bringing him into a tight hug and patting him on the back. “It has been too long, my brother. And with no word from you as well. I thought you had finally died, caught your death in some stupid, cowardly fashion. But no! You still survive, against the odds, despite you having the body of a pixie.”

Jon, having somewhat forgotten what the wildling man could be like after months apart, was at a loss for words as he tried to pick through everything Tormund had said. Thankfully for him, Tormund’s attention was soon taken up by Daenerys, which caused an even brighter smile to appear on his face. “Dragon mama!” came his exclamation, stumbling towards as he kissed her hand in a show of respect and restraint that didn't match his usual character. “You have graced us with our presence once again. And no one has offered you a seat?” He stared angrily at one man who was tucking into a leg of meat. “Do you know who this is? You owe this woman your life! So don’t just sit there without any sign acknowledgement.” He whacked the piece of meat from his hand, his look telling the other man to leave before he did something to his  _ actual _ leg. 

“There really was no need for that,” Daenerys admonished him gently, watching the man flee. “I’m perfectly fine with standing up. We don’t plan on staying long.” She grimaced slightly as she watched him pick up the meat, blow on it and then start tearing into it himself.

“Yes, but I find great entertainment in reminding people who’s in charge around here,” Tormund admitted with a grin.

“How has it been?” Jon asked, happy to be back in the company of his good friend. “Being in charge? Have they taken to you as leader?”

Tormund ignored the snort of disdain that came from where Clegane was standing, sending him a rueful glare. “It took a few days. I had some challengers but no one that I couldn’t deal with easily. Don’t grow too big headed, Crow. You leaving wasn’t that devastating to the people. They probably hardly noticed that you were gone.” He laughed as he took another bite, spittle spraying around his mouth. He paused to lick his fingers. “But they will have picked up on your return. You could have given us notice. I have nowhere for the Dragon Queen and her knight to sleep. I would have prepared a tent…”

Daenerys held up a hand. “There’s no need for that. Like I said, I doubt we’ll be staying here for long.”

“Then explain to me why you’re here in the first place if it isn’t a social call.”

It took nearly an hour for them to describe properly the events that had unfolded since Daenerys had last seen him. He had instantly believed the tale of Ustrina, stating that he was in no position to doubt those sort of powers existed when he’d witnessed them firsthand. He had been less accepting of Jon’s story about his surprising lineage, claiming that he had never shown any natural fire that matched a Targaryen. He had chortled at Jon’s downtrodden face, saying that he was more of a lost puppy than a monstrous dragon. When Daenerys reminded him that she had one such creature on hand, he smartly stopped berating Jon. At least whilst she was listening.

“A tree?” he succinctly summarised once the tale had come to its end, scratching his ginger beard in fascination. “And what do you intend to do to this tree?”

“Destroy it,” Daenerys answered simply. “Why do you think I brought a dragon along?”

“You think that’ll stop this woman who’s claimed your throne?”

“I certainly hope so.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we’ll find another way, no matter how disappointing it’ll feel. I won’t rest until I find a way to get rid of her but I have a burning feeling that we’re onto something here.”

Tormund clapped his hands together. “Good! Then I’m on board. You’ll need scouts to go with you. There are some ferocious animals out there that won’t think twice about ripping your face off. I think we’ll invite Clegane here with us too.”

“What?” the man in question asked dangerously.

“You heard me. They’ll need support and you don’t exactly do anything around here.”

“...fine,” Clegane relented bitterly.

“Then we leave at dawn,” Daenerys said, determined that this would work.

**********

Melisandre cautiously backed away from Bruda, trying to keep as much space as possible between them. The look he was giving her was downright frightening; it was angry and cold, suspicious and calculating, but she could also tell that it was sad and defeated. During the time they had been apart, the warlock had seemingly lost his spirit, his will to carry on the fight. What had Ustrina done to him that had caused such a potent reaction? It was evident that it had warped his sense of reality and the way he trusted things he saw. She was standing right in front of him in the flesh and, yet, because of what he’d been through, he simply wouldn’t allow himself to believe it was at all possible. He had been too hurt by hope and faith in the past; this was too good to be true. And what was even more scary was that those feelings could cause him to strike her down when she was, in fact, perfectly real and there to help him. He was closing the distance, his hand still billowing with golden wisps of energy that flickered and faded, symbolising his internal struggle, his desire to end this perceived threat fighting against the strength of his heart. Melisandre wasn’t too sure what his decision would be or whether he could ever go through with it. 

“Bruda,” she said softly, holding her hands up in surrender. “You don’t want to do this. Please listen to me. I have travelled so far to see you again and I don’t want it to end like this.” She could feel the onset of tears stinging her eyes and falling to her cheeks to stain them but she had to stay strong. She had to show him the truth. “You have to believe me.”

“Why should I do that?” he asked bitterly, shaking his head. His eyes were aflame, lacking in their unusual sparkle and charm. “When you’re a lie. A fake. A copy. You stand there...looking like her...who gave you the right? I didn't ask for this, just like I didn't ask for Isabella to come back to me. Don’t make me do this.” His voice broke at the end, the weight of the choice pressing down on him, but his arm remained firm and straight.

“I look like her because I  _ am _ her,” Melisandre pleaded desperately. “Ustrina has no idea that I’m here. I took down the guard.” She helplessly gestured to their prone bodies. “Why would I do that if I were under her spell.”

“To trick me. It’s always done to trick me. That’s been her plan right from the very beginning. Give me hope and then snatch it away. I won’t fall for it again.” His hand clenched into a fist and Melisandre started to feel her arms sting and burn, the rough feel of his magic which had once been so comforting to her. “No more.”

“I...won’t fight you,” she managed to choke out. “I would never...fight you. You have done so much for me. You gave me life, you saved me from who I was becoming. Do you remember? Just before the war. We were alone together, you were so kind, so...magical. You saw me for who I could be, not who I was. How else could anyone know what happened that night other than me?”

“Of course I remember,” he shot back coolly but she could almost feel the pressure lift off slightly. It was only a miniscule reprieve. “My magic intertwined with yours, bringing us together. It’s one of the few decisions in my lifetime that I will never regret.” A ghost of a smile appeared for a second, the shadow of his former self, before it disappeared again behind the mask. “As for how you know...that’s how she lures you in. Feeds you with secrets that you believed no one else knew but she always does.”

“The act that you haven’t killed me yet tells me that you never will,” she said bravely, risking antagonising him to the point of no return. “I truly believe that you could never hurt me. I know who you are and you are a good man. A strong one who wouldn’t give up like this. So, if you’re going to prove me wrong, at least I’ll die still believing that’s true.”

“I haven’t killed you yet because I’m a coward. I’m weak.” Was there doubt in his expression now? “Because I’m a fool who never learns from past mistakes.” Bruda practically growled as he fought against losing his concentration. “I’ll give you one chance. Answer in a way that I deem fit and I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.” He waited for her to nod her head in affirmation, which she did eagerly. “Why shouldn’t I kill you?”

Melisandre froze, trying to think of what the perfect response would be. She could plead to his conscience again, hoping it would work better this time. Or she could try and work in his hatred of Ustrina, show him how she could help him defeat her. In the end, it came down to speaking the truth, the one truth that could never be mimicked properly. “Because...I love you.” She smiled despite the pain, seeing the shock in his eyes. “There, I finally said it. And Ustrina would never have known that I hadn’t said it up to this point. I am me and I love you.”

“You...can’t be here. I sent you away,” he said quietly. His magic was still flowing but he was unsure now. He had been so certain that she was one of Ustrina’s ghosts, come to haunt him and push him over the edge.

“As if I would ever listen to your instructions. It’s like you don’t know me at all.” She smiled even more when she felt his energy falter for a second time, giving her room to stretch her arms. Melisandre reached out her hand and stroked his face tenderly, running her hands through his beard. Her hands glowed in the same colour as his, sending a warm sensation through his skin, practically reaching into his soul. “Could a copy do this?”

Bruda, his eyes wet and red, sunk to the floor, finally releasing Melisandre from his grasp. He was holding his head in his hands and she lowered herself to the floor to be at his level, wrapping her arms around him, enjoying the feeling of being close to him again. That comforting smell, so familiar. She forced him to look her in the eyes, laying her emotions bare for him to see. 

“You’re...here? It’s actually...you?” he quietly asked, still disbelieving.

Melisandre leaned forward and softly captured his lips with hers as if to make all of his concerns melt away. How long had it been since she’d kissed him? For a time, both of them had believed they would never be able to do it again. When they broke apart, she was pleased to see that he didn't look so lost and alone. “I am.”

“How did you get here? Into the Red Keep as well? There are hundreds, probably thousands of mindless guards who wouldn’t think twice about slitting your throat!”

“Would you believe me if I said I flew here on the back of a dragon?” She enjoyed the way his eyes lit up at that. “As for getting inside the castle...well, I’ve had time to hone my magical skills, haven’t I? I’m still nowhere near your level but I’m getting close.”

“You are...brilliant!” he exclaimed, kissing here again. “And Daenerys? How is she? Is she here too?” He was suddenly filled with a level of excitement that he hadn’t felt for a long time.”

“No. She travelled in the opposite direction than me.” And Melisandre had to fill Bruda in on the developments he’d missed out on. How Jon had relinquished his claim to the throne, which the warlock was very happy about as it made things a lot easier, according to him. He’d begun to frown though when she’d described the tree Daenerys had set out to find and destroy. He stood up, pacing around in a small circle. It was an act that was so fundamentally the Bruda of old that Melisandre couldn’t help but smile slightly at the sight. 

“Bran Stark said that the Children of the Forest created the Night King using a tree as the location. It could be that it’s the same one and then maybe there’s a logical assumption that it could have been the centre of all magic.”

“So she’s right to go to it and get rid of it if she can?” Melisandre asked hopefully.

Bruda’s face was grave. “I said the centre of  _ all _ magic. Not just Ustrina and her ghosts. No. Every element of magic we’ve known in the world. The tree, the dragons...even us. I used magic to save Daenerys too, or at least to remove the dark magic within her, and she has her own natural form. If she destroys that tree, then she risks killing a lot more than that woman on the throne.”


	33. Snow and Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys and the rest of the group face growing difficulties as they near the tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been one of my favourite chapters to write. I hope you enjoy it just as much! We're nearing the end of the story now, with only a few chapters left.

The snow was somehow deeper in these parts as they continued to trudge on, sinking with every footstep. With their diminutive forms compared to the men, Jorah was half worried that Daenerys and Oslen would eventually be swallowed up by it all, lost to them before they got to the tree. They were also fighting against a storm now, a wild wind picking up the snow and blowing it in their faces, making sight difficult and communication near impossible at times. Yet Daenerys refused to falter, never stopping in her march to what she hoped was freedom. Every one of them was wearing thick woollen cloaks, hoods up to cover their heads and large gloves to protect their fingers from the cold. But the chill was still ever present, running down their backs. They knew that, if they stopped for too long, they wouldn’t have the resolve or strength to carry on. Tormund Giantsbane was the most enthusiastic of the bunch, plowing on regardless of the horrid conditions, a determined smile plastered on his face. Sometimes, he would let out a cackle when he saw Jon almost lose his footing, which happened far too often for the younger man’s liking. His laugh was always loud enough to fight off the gale, landing on their ears as if he were right next to them. Clegane was just as capable at navigating the landscape, thinking back to when he had been forced to come to this region the first time, his first encounter with the Night King. He still had the energy to complain, claiming he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions if this ‘bloody tree’ turned out to be a waste of their time.

Daenerys wouldn’t allow herself to think like that, believing that she was right about this. If she began to doubt the chances of their success, she would likely turn around and head back to Winterfell, not wanting to risk any of their lives for a pointless endeavour. Jorah remained close by her side at all times, occasionally holding out a hand to assist her when they reached even trickier situations. When he did so, she would send him a grateful smile, which he could just about make out through the snow. She wasn’t just thankful for his presence now; it was yet another example of him being by her side no matter what, no matter the circumstances, no matter what she asked of him. Time and time again, the knight had proven his devout loyalty and then some. He truly was the most dedicated man in the realm in her eyes and she doubted that would ever change. And she knew perfectly well how lucky she was that he reciprocated her feelings, even though it had been pretty clear from an early point in their relationship how he felt towards her. Daenerys couldn’t quite believe how long it took for her to accept those feelings were genuine, not born out of the pursuit for rewards or prizes or power, and how much longer it took her to realise she had always felt the same way. Whenever she caught a glance at his face through the small blizzard, she would think about how different their lives would be if Ustrina had never existed. They would likely have been married by now, since had planning had just about gotten underway right before this disaster had struck. It didn't do to dwell on all the possibilities of life, the ‘what if’ moments that you couldn’t help but think about. It was never going to be that easy with the poor luck they had so, now, her only option was to fight to make it happen, subvert fate and take control herself. 

When they approached the edge of a seemingly dense forest, they collectively made the decision to take a small break. Sheltered from the worst of the storm, it was easier to discuss their progress and next steps. However, they did all keep their coats tightly closed, hoods still up, the icy feeling on their skin not leaving them. It wouldn’t be leaving them for a long time, they reckoned, even when they made it back to camp. If they made it back to camp, a rather pessimistic outlook Sandor Clegane had given with no one inviting him to do so. There was a singular tree stump that he had chosen to sit on as they caught their breath, a sign of previous work of some wildling. It signalled that they were still in the part of the area that was predominantly used, telling them that they had a long way to go before reaching the tree, where it was hiding in a neglected part of the land. Jon had his back pressed up against a tree as he breathed heavily, still not completely used to this way of life. Despite that, Tormund looked just as taken aback by the severe conditions, looking up at the sky with a confused frown, picking at pieces of ice that had collected in his bushy ginger beard. Oslen was just as quiet as she had been since returning to camp, appearing the least affected by the whirlwind and torrents. 

“Where did this storm come from?” Jon tiredly asked. He was beginning to see it as a clear sign that someone didn't want them to be doing this. Some greater power, possibly a god. Only the old ones roamed these parts, the most understood and unpredictable. 

“I don’t fucking know,” Tormund answered bluntly, just as annoyed as the other man. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It wasn’t remotely this bad when we set off. I’d actually believed we’d been given the perfect weather for this journey.”

“Well, there’s the cause of it then,” the Hound bit out, wishing he’d brought some food with him. He’d never expected it to be this difficult when he’d been roped into the expedition. “You bloody cursed us with your positive thinking. Aye, the gods are ironic like that. They enjoy their games, messing with us.”

“Even so, this storm is like no other I’ve witnessed and I’ve been through my fair share. Blizzards normally give you fair warning of their approach yet this one just appeared, surrounding us. And, if I didn't think it was impossible, I’d wager that, through the snow, there’s a clear bastard sky up above us.” He gestured upwards, trying to see past the tree top canopies. There were definitely flickers of blue poking through the onslaught of white, which perplexed them all.

“If you wanted a sign that we shouldn’t be doing this, there you go.” It was Olsen who spoke, which took them by surprise, none more so than Jon, whose head perked up at the sound of her soft voice. She was looking straight at Daenerys with what they’d all categorise as disdain and contempt, for what reason, they didn't know. “I don’t claim to know the gods but I know their ways. They know what you plan to do, going against nature, I reckon. They know your motives. They’ll do their utmost to stop you.”

Daenerys returned the dark look, not trusting the way the other woman was acting or speaking. “That’s a shame. Because I don’t plan on being put off by some freakish weather. I’ve been through a lot worse and come out the other side relatively unscathed. It’ll take more than some gods to stop me today but, if you’re not up to the task, I’m sure the camp will be grateful for your presence.”

“You need me to show you the way there,” Oslen pointed out fiercely. “I would choose your words more carefully than that, dragon woman. Or I might consider...forgetting where this tree is.”

“Is that a threat?” Daenerys asked icily, her tone just as cold as the temperature around them. Her gaze would have scared even the bravest of men but Oslen refused to back down, the two of them staring at one another. 

“It’s a warning. I understand why you think you must do this but what if you’re mistaken? What if you do something irreversible that angers the gods or whatever power is controlling this? Will you take the blame for your actions or will you find someone else to take the fall, like you leaders tend to do?”

“Enough,” Jorah intervened, standing in between them. Jon had just been about to do the same, thankful that the Bear had chosen to do so. He didn't reckon he could take on both of the women at the same time, even more unsure as to who he was meant to side with now after he and Oslen had grown closer. Yet, he had started to frown at her mention of another power potentially being behind this, remembering when Bruda had produced a blizzard to protect them from the Night King’s attacks on the Wall. Was some form of magic behind this?

“We won’t be able to do anything if we keep taking cheap shots at one another,” Jorah continued, holding his hands out in a peaceful gesture. “The only way we succeed is by sticking together.” He looked over to the red-haired woman whose expression hadn’t changed. “Oslen, I know why you’re worried...or even scared. But we’re relying on you right now. We’ve told you why this has to be done, no matter the consequences and your words won’t change our minds, regardless of how heartfelt they are.” He paused to see if he was making any progress with her, slightly relieved that she no longer looked like she wanted to injure Daenerys. “Now...are we heading in the right direction to find the tree? It seems like it could be very easy to get lost in here and that’s the last thing we need.”

Oslen nodded her head, defeated. “Yes. We have to get past this initial outcropping of trees. We’ll eventually come to a series of hills which we’ll have to make our way over. It’s not going to get any easier from this point. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“I never expected it to be easy,” Jon joked. “Whenever we think something is going to be simple, there’s always some factor at play that we can’t see that changes that.”

They readied themselves to continue with their journey, their faces grim but determined. Tormund took the lead, the group formed in a sort of diamond formation as they tried to stick together. “Remember,” the wildling shouted against the storm. “If you lose your way from the group, you’ll get lost and probably die. So don’t do that.”

For a few blissful moments, they all managed to do that. They wandered through the trees, watching out for hidden roots, keeping an eye on one another. It started to feel like they were making actual progress but then, all of a sudden, the snow picked up with a vengeance, an onslaught of sleet attacking them. They had to cover their faces to protect themselves, walking blindly in different directions. Some of them stumbled under the pressure, others kept pressing on with no idea where they were heading. As Jon battled against the howling winds, he could just about make out their shouts and yells for help, faint attempts to stick together. And then, as quickly as the snow had come, their voices disappeared. He found himself in a clearing in the forest, the air calm, so unlike what it had been, what it was supposed to be like. Nervously, he looked around, trying to see through the trees. There was no sign of the rest of the group and he wondered how it was possible that they could all disappear at once. Had he been transported somewhere without him knowing about it? Was that even something that could happen? With his track record, he couldn’t rule out anything.

Jon shouted as loud as he possibly could, cupping his mouth in the hope that his voice would travel further. Yet his cries and pleas were met with a serene silence and he knew he was in serious trouble. Something wasn’t right about this, that much was clear to him. No one knew exactly what these parts of the world were capable of; had he mistakenly stepped into one of its hidden secrets? Would he ever be able to get back to the others? 

There was a crunch of snow behind one of the trees that caught his attention (there were no other sounds so it was bound to be noticed). He half expected it to be some sort of animal, hopefully one that didn't have plans to make him their daily meal. But what emerged was even worse than that. Jon took a staggering step backwards, almost falling to the ground but just managing to keep his balance as he warily looked at the other man. Eddard Stark had returned to him once again, looking the same as he had done at Winterfell, looking the same as he had done the last time Jon had seen him alive. So he was dreaming, that was the conclusion he promptly came to. Maybe he had fallen over and banged his head on a rock. That was the only logical explanation for the dead man’s ethereal appearance. Ned Stark’s face had a nervous smile on it as he tentatively approached. He didn't seem affected by the cold, clad in an outfit that was only suited to the warmer climate of King’s Landing in the south. Had he been wearing that the day he died?  _ Died _ . It was a pressing reminder to Jon that he couldn’t allow himself to believe this was real. It was the work of dark magic, that’s what Daenerys had claimed and when had she ever led him down the wrong path? Anger ate away at him, both at whoever was responsible for defiling this man in such a twisted manner, as well as at his father too for the secrets he had kept in life.

“She said this was the best way to meet you again,” Ned began in greeting, rubbing the back of his head. It was as if he was trying to understand the situation just as much as Jon was. “I had to talk to you after the last time went so poorly.”

“You said  _ she _ again. You did that last time too. Why don’t you tell me who she is and I might consider granting your wish. Is it that Ustrina woman? She’s behind all of this. She’s messed with your head and I’m sorry you’ve been put through this.” Jon’s chest was heaving as he fought his instincts to run. The time for that was over. He’d started to see that that was never a suitable option. “But that doesn’t entitle you to torture me as well.”

“She never gave me a name. I only met her the one time. The red haired woman said that you didn't need to know until all hope was lost. I guess we haven’t reached that moment yet, which I have to see as a good thing.” 

Jon frowned, remembering Daenerys telling him that Ustrina had fiery hair so it must have been her. Maybe that meant his father wasn’t lying, finally choosing to go down the truthful route. But, if he wasn’t lying, it meant he was a puppet of the exact woman they had come here to destroy, surely meaning that he would do his best to stop them. Had Ned been behind this sudden change of scenery? Was he capable of such things now? How far would he go to save his new mistress, his new ruler? Jon gripped the hilt of his sword with one gloved hand, ready to unsheath it at any given moment.

Eddard held out his hands in what was meant to be a peaceful gesture. “I don’t want this to end the same way as our last conversation. I’m not here to fight you, I never was. You must know that I would never intentionally hurt you, no matter what you think she has done to me. I’m the same man you knew.” To his credit, Ned quickly drew his sword and threw it to the ground, the weapon sinking softly into the untouched snow, the blade glinting in the strange sunlight that had appeared.

Jon stared down at the longsword, a sign of good will, a gesture of peace and trust. He relinquished his hold of his own sword, his shoulders becoming less tense as he let out a confused sigh. “If that’s the case...then why are you here?”

Ned shrugged, displaying the same characteristics Jon had known for the majority of his childhood. It was a reassuring and yet unnerving sight at the same time. “Once I understood the gift I’d been given, I wanted to make the most of it. I had to see what you’d done with your life and I have to say that I’m impressed.” He smiled warmly at his son, an action that wasn’t reciprocated in the slightest.

“Why me? Why not Sansa? She was more your child than I ever was,” Jon argued, past resentments bubbling away at the surface, ready to spill over at any second.

“You know now that isn’t strictly true. And, even if you didn't, surely you appreciate that I tried my best to raise you as one of my own. I owed you that much and I never reneged from my duty to your mother. Not once. So you can stop with the petulant act. You’re not the first person in history to have not known who their parents were. You should count yourself lucky that you had a roof over your head.”

There was a venom in his words that was unlike anything he had ever heard from his father. _Not his father._ _He had to keep reminding himself of that after the revelations he’d been told._ The anger present in his demeanour didn't suit his character, convincing Jon that he had been distorted by whatever magic had been used on him. “What are you expecting? A prize for not leaving me for dead? You lied to me for my entire life. Am I supposed to just forgive you for that? Be grateful for what you did? Your mind must have been left behind when you were brought back.”

“Tell me,” Ned bit out. “What would you have done if I’d told you? What good would it have done? You would have just resented me, quite like what you’re doing now. Where would that have left us? People would have asked why you were acting in such a fashion and then the truth would have been known. Before you know it, your head would have been on a platter, next to mine. I did what I did to protect my family, my sister, and the boy she gave birth to. You.”

“You really don’t understand how much you ruined my life,” Jon spat out, actually happy that he was finally able to get this off his chest. 

“I’m the only reason that you had a life,” Ned countered.

“Everyone knew me as the bastard of Winterfell! I was never a part of the family! Never! How do you think that made me feel? I was looked down upon like scum all my life, even by those who said they were my family. I was your blood yet you never did anything to stop your wife from torturing me every day. The disdainful glances, the harsh words, constantly picking away at me until I was nothing more than a shell, a husk. That was all down to you.” Jon, unashamed of the tears that were in his eyes, stepped closer to the other man, his teeth gritted. “As for protecting your family...when you came back, I suppose you were surprised to see that only two of us were left alive. You did that as well. If you hadn't been so bloody foolish, if you had just stayed at Winterfell, our family would still be alive. My brothers would still be standing with me, my little sister would still be running around like the wild girl she was. Your wife is dead as a result of your actions yet you stand there like everything you did was noble.”

Jon wiped away at the spittle that had formed in the corner of his mouth, breathing heavily. “Do you know how long I have wanted to say all of this? It was only once I left Winterfell that I was finally able to grow into something worthwhile and, even then, I was still tainted by the lies you’d spread. Every hardship I have faced, I can blame you for. And you stand here wanting forgiveness. Did you expect any other sort of reaction from me?”

Jon Snow stared at a dumbfounded Eddard Stark and shook his head. “Do you know what the worst thing about it is? For so long, all I wanted was your approval. I constantly strived to be recognised in your eyes but it never came. It broke me that you never truly acknowledged me but it also built me into the man I am today. So, for that, I thank you. Because I can finally say out loud that I don’t want your recognition. I don’t need your approval. I see you now for what you were. A man who let down his family without even knowing what was happening. I can safely admit that I don’t need you anymore.”

For a second, Ned stood there in stunned silence before his body was shattered by a piercing bright light. Jon shielded his eyes away from the intense glow before he could feel the torrent of snow return, battering away at his body as if he’d never left. The forest was surrounding him again, the shouts of the other people a strangely welcome noise. He never thought he’d be so grateful to be back in a situation like this one.

**********

Unbeknownst to Jon, Daenerys had been put through a similar scenario as well. As the wind had picked up, swirling around them with its icy grip, the snow lashing down and obscuring the landscape, she had expected to be consumed by it all, never to emerge. One second, she had her eyes open in defiance, as if to tell the gods that she was not willing to be cowered by the power they were showing. The next, she was forced to do exactly that, the coldness too much and, for a brief, wonderful moment, she was all alone in a world of black, away from the physical torment they were all going through. When she risked opening her eyes again, unsure as to why she couldn’t feel any of the snow anymore, she was surprised to find that she was in a seemingly different part of the forest. The trees weren’t packed as densely, giving her room to walk about without the fear of falling over. Although the trees had frostings of white, there was no snowfall, the weather calm. It all felt very serene to her, which was putting her on edge. The only times she had experienced a sensation like this was when she had gone through her premonitions. Was that a good sign? Since it was one such prophetic dream that had led her to come here. Maybe it was the way the gods used to tell her she was on the right track. If only. She should have known from the moment she woke in this realm that it wasn’t going to be a good thing. 

Her nerves had been on edge before he emerged from behind the first line of trees. How long had he been waiting for her there, Daenerys wondered, which she hadn’t expected to be the first question to come to mind. Really, she should have been more surprised by his appearance in the first place, not the logistics of it. Yet, something deep inside of her had told her that she would see him again. They were not done with one another, despite how much she had never wanted to be anywhere near him again. What she was most stunned by was how she didn't feel any of the fear she had been anticipating. It definitely didn't feel the same as the previous time she had come into contact with his ghost, running away from his taunts and accusations. Maybe it had something to do with the conversation she had had with Melisandre, who had told her that she, herself, was the one giving power to her nightmares. Once Daenerys admitted that this wasn’t the same man as the one she had married, his grip on her had faltered somewhat.

That didn't mean she wasn’t anxious about being alone with him. She wanted to spend time contemplating what had happened to the others, more worried about their safety than her own. Khal Drogo was practically prowling like one of the animals he enjoyed to hunt so mercilessly. It was rather strange to see him in the wintry setting, his simple attire of dirty rags and bare chest was not fitting for the temperature. It confirmed her suspicions that he couldn’t possibly be alive as Ustrina wanted to claim; no man would be able to survive like this. Only monsters could thrive in these conditions. It hurt to call him such a creature but Daenerys was reminding herself that she  _ had _ to. The more she told herself that he wasn’t the real thing, the more she would come to believe it. Or so she hoped. She stood firm, her back straight, her chin raised in challenge, signalling that she didn't intend to run away this time. Fleeing only delayed the confrontation, never putting an end to it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Daenerys said sympathetically. She decided to take a risk, walking up to him. Drogo hadn’t moved since emerging from his hiding spot and he simply stared at her as she approached. Standing in front of him, she had to admit that he looked the same as he had done, even down to the painfully familiar scent that had been his own. How many times had she dreamt of smelling that again only to now deny its existence? There was a cruel irony in that. She was close to tears when she saw the scar on his chest, a reminder of what had killed him, what had been his fatal undoing. She tentatively ghosted a hand over the wound, thinking back to the first time she had seen it, the first time she had come to accept he wouldn’t ever recover from it. Khal Drogo didn't move, didn't say anything. He just watched her movements carefully, curious as to what she was doing. Daenerys couldn’t decipher the thoughts running through his head, the emotions that flooded his eyes. All he could think about was how much she had changed? He had married a young girl, not yet a woman. And now here she stood, beyond the edge of the world as she had promised she would. She had proved him right in believing how strong she was.

Daenerys sadly brought a hand to his cheek, rubbing a thumb over his soft skin. “What has she done to you, my love? You shouldn’t be here.” She sniffed quietly, trying to remain composed. “You should be resting.”

He moved her arm away, a darkness reemerging in his gaze. “The magic woman did the same as you intended. She was simply more successful than you.” He spoke in his harsh Dothraki tongue and it took Daenerys longer than it once had to translate his words in her head. That was the biggest sign of all that she needed to highlight how she had moved on from that part of her life. It was comforting in a sense and his insults didn't have the desired effect on her anymore. Because she knew her Khal Drogo didn't mean them. He was a puppet of a cruel woman and all Daenerys wanted to do now was free him of her control.

She smiled, seeing how it confused Drogo. For a second, he thought that he hadn’t understood her at all. “I let you down, didn't I? I was naive and foolish to think that I could bring you back without any ramifications. I thought I could do anything though when it came to you. You made me feel that way. You gave me that attitude, that strength. I will never forget the impact you had on my life.” Her smile only brightened, regardless of the sadness she was feeling. “I would not have succeeded in the things I’ve accomplished if I hadn’t met you. And you would be so proud of what I’ve done since you...died. Maybe one day I’ll have enough time to tell you the story in its entirety because it’s a tale that should be relished. The part of my life that you missed out on and I will never be over the fact that that is the case.”

“I...didn't die alone,” he said. “You killed our son as well. He was supposed to be in your place. You acted out of greed, out of a lust for power. It plagued your mind and poisoned your thoughts.” When he had conveyed those sentiments back in the Red Keep, they had shattered her heart. Now she could only hear how half-hearted his attempts were to torment her. Ustrina’s power over her and him was slipping; she could no longer twist their memories now. Because Daenerys was no longer willing to simply ignore them, to file them away as past mistakes. She had to own up to them.

“I’ve come to accept that it wasn’t just down to me what happened that awful day.  _ You _ let me down just as much I let myself down. It was your recklessness, your sense of bravado that got yourself killed, meaning I had to do anything I could to make up for  _ your _ mistakes. I never though of it like that until a few weeks ago.” A weight had been lifted from her shoulders as she finally allowed herself to say it, removing him from the pedestal she had put him on, removing the power he had over her. 

“My actions did kill our son, yes,” she continued, wanting to get this out in the open. “And it hurt no one more than me. I spent years believing that I had destroyed my chances of ever having a family. I lost you and our child. I was lost for so long, a stranger to myself. But then, as the months and years went by, I found people. Not connected by blood but still brought together by the same sense of love and loyalty. I made myself a family. I forged one through difficulty and strife and I vowed to myself that I would not lose this one too. Which is why I’m here, which is why I’m presumably being forced to see you again. If even a remote slither of the man I loved exists within you right now, that last bit clinging on...then you will be happy for me.”

“I...am...happy,” he managed to say through gritted teeth. It seemed like he was fighting against an invisible force, something pushing against his want to be himself again. “For you. I am happy. That you...lived.”

“I know,” she said through tears, so long it had been of her waiting to hear him say those words. “I know.” Despite the cold and the strangeness of their surroundings, they couldn’t think about anything else other than each other. A sense of warmth was spreading through Daenerys that her body practically couldn’t feel the cold anymore. “Now, my love...I ask you to do one last thing for me.” The look he gave her told Daenerys that he was willing to do anything she asked of him. “Remember who you were. Remember the man of strength you were. Remember how he would never have been swayed by anyone, let alone a woman who had no knowledge of who he truly was. I want you to let go. For me.”

“Goodbye...moon of my life,” he muttered quietly, the smallest of smiles on his face.

“Thank you...my sun and stars.” 

Her sight was blinded by a bright light for a few moments before she was back in reality, Jorah standing by her side. The snow had let up, meaning she could see his curious glance. Maybe he just presumed he had lost her in the storm. It would take a lot less explaining if that was the case. But the others weren’t looking at her. No, they were staring at something in the distance, on top of a small hill, sticking out. A lone tree, appearing large even from the distance it was away from them. Daenerys’ breath caught in her throat as she looked around, seeing the hope in Jorah’s eyes too.

“Is that…” she began to ask, looking for any confirmation.

Who she wanted to see was Oslen, who had the best knowledge of it. The red-haired woman was standing in front of them but facing them instead of the tree. Her look was dark and, almost immediately, Daenerys could feel that sense of hope slipping through her fingers.

“I can’t let you go any further,” Oslen said, her voice more powerful now, a far cry from the small sound it tended to be. “I shouldn’t have allowed you to get this far. I’d hoped  _ they _ would make you change your minds but evidently not.”

“What’s the bastard girl talking about?” Clegane asked bluntly, sneering at Oslen with yellow teeth. His grim smile turned into a frown as she stared back at him, her hands beginning to glow in an eerily familiar way.


	34. Finality and Deception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is running out as lies are revealed and stands are made

Bruda stared out of the window pensively, running a hand through his beard as he collected his thoughts, attempting to figure out what his next move should be. Despite the rather pessimistic outlook he had on current events, added to the fact that the likely outcome of any attempts made by him or his friends would result in his death and many others, the warlock had to admit that he was still surprisingly positive. That had more to do with the woman back by his side rather than any foolish hopes there was a way out of this mess. And it had been months since he’d considered a proper course of action; the return to normality was making him feel like himself again, something he would have refused to admit only a couple of weeks ago. It was funny how your morale could change so quickly, so flippantly. Melisandre was looking at him in apprehension, still fearful that he was not quite the same man. How could he convince her that he still had that spark buried away within him, deep down? Especially after the cold greeting he’d given her upon her surprise arrival. That was certainly regrettable but, if they made it out of this, then he was sure he would make it up to her, some way or another. And, look at that...he was considering a future where they survived the upcoming future, which had to be a good sign.

He spun around, a sense of energy lifting his bones that hadn’t been there for quite some time. Bruda had reached a low he hadn’t experienced since the death of Isabella all those years ago. The sight of Marwyn falling victim to his own stupid actions wasn’t one he was going to quickly forget. For a second, he was distracted by his sobering thoughts by the sight of Melisandre, the woman who loved him. His brain had almost overlooked that huge admission, the one that had proven to him that she was actually, one hundred percent real. How was it possible that, even in the darkest of times, you could find such a bright light to cling onto? She was basically an anchor, tethering him to this realm, this reality, forcing him to account for his previous mistakes and move on, to learn from them and put them into good use. Had he really been ready to give up after so much time of fighting? Whatever the answer to that question was, Bruda knew that she was making him reconsider. He’d always spoken about having one last battle in him. Maybe this was the one he’d been waiting for.

“So...to recap...Daenerys is about to do some utterly foolish and idiotic and stupid...and brave. No other act could describe her better. Always being driven by the heart rather than the brain.” He was smiling now, a foreign feeling on his face. It felt  _ good _ . Immeasurably so. 

“Are you sure that it’s going to have such devastating effects?” Melisandre asked, hoping that he had miscalculated one for a change. It was incredibly nice to be talking to him again, properly  _ him. _ She’d had conversations with him in her head since she’d left King’s Landing, more pleasant a ghost than the ones haunting her comrades. When she’d finally found him, that hadn’t been the true Bruda either, a hollow shell of the great man he could be and still was. But now...the way he moved, the way he spoke, and the way he gesticulated wildly. It was as if he’d been woken from a long slumber, so full of energy and purpose. The sight was fuelling her urge to fight too, mainly because she wanted to use the opportunity to show him how far she had come with her own magic.

“When am I ever sure about anything?” he countered in a familiar style of self-deprecation that she’d never thought she’d miss. “The mystery of that tree is shrouded in folklore and fantastical tales. Destroying it could have large scale impacts. Removing magic from the world...how dark a place it would be without that burning light. Westeros would hardly suffer but the east would be decimated. The birth of those dragons brought magic back with a vengeance and it’s certainly thriving over there right now. Daenerys had a few run-ins with the sort. Strike that match and she could kill thousands, a burden she wouldn’t have to carry for too long because she’d likely fall too in the process.”

“But would it kill Ustrina as well? That’s the main thing we’re worried about. Is it a price worth paying to remove such an overbearing evil?”

Bruda gave Melisandre a dark look. “Have you even considered that you would probably die too if she succeeds in doing this? I never wanted you to be so willing to sacrifice yourself, especially without any proper consideration.”

She arched an eyebrow in challenge. “I should have died a long time ago, on the snow-capped fields of Winterfell, amongst the hordes of the dead. You gave me extra time, another chance at life. Isn’t that something to be thankful for, rather than being fearful all the time of losing it?”

“You can feel both at the same time!” he argued strongly, not wanting to think about losing her so soon after being reunited. Why was Fate always so cruel? “I helped you because I saw you could be greater than you were at the time. You’ve already proven to me that I was right in doing so but that doesn’t mean you get to throw it away. You should be angry or scared, trying to figure a way out of this before it’s too late. What you shouldn’t be is so...accepting!”

“Of course I would much rather live than die but if I don’t get a choice in the matter, then I guess I’m fine with it if other people don’t have to suffer anymore.” She was rather proud of herself for having that mentality. It signalled the growth she had been through as a person. The previous Melisandre would never have been so prepared to make such a large sacrifice with no gain of her own. “You don’t get to lecture me on this when you’ve already done the same. You died to save millions. Why can’t I do the same?”

“Because I’m not as important as you!” he shouted angrily, wondering how she couldn’t see where he was coming from. “I will never be as special as you or as brilliant as you. Look how strong you’ve become. I’m lucky to have been a part of that progress and I don’t want to see it snuffed out like a candle in the night.”

Melisandre stepped closer to him, taking his hands in hers. She kissed him gently on the forehead, a lingering touch that spoke volumes, more than any words could say. She knew what he was trying to tell her, that he didn't want to watch another woman he loved die because of him, even though it never was and never would be his fault. She didn't have to hear him say that precious word; she could see it in his eyes as he stared at her imploringly. She began to smile, which confused him. The last thing he wanted to do right now was smile.

“Bruda,” she whispered. “Why can’t we be as important as one another? Together, we’re greater than anything we can do on our own. Over the years, we had to learn that the hard way before we eventually met each other. If this is the end, why can’t we face it together? I’d ask for nothing more.”

“There’s no way we can get to Daenerys in time,” he said with a defeated tone. “Whatever she does, we have to accept. And she won’t even know what she’s done until it’s too late. She shouldn’t have to make that decision. I failed her yet again and I can’t save her.”

“She’d disagree with that and you know it,” Melisandre responded sagely. “You have done more for her than anyone. You have helped so many people and never got anything in return. She was determined to do this and you know why? Because it was about time that you didn't have to face such a burden on your own. You started to forget you have so many people around you that would be willing to go to the ends of the earth if you asked. And they have.” She paused as he slightly chuckled at that comment. “She wants an end to this too. Daenerys lost just as much as you, probably more so, when Ustrina took the Throne. And she would ask you one simple question if she were standing in front of you right now. Wouldn’t you do the same in her position?”

“I would,” he admitted with a small smile. “When did you become so wise? It’s going to make having debates with you a lot more difficult for me.”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, are you ready to do this? To face one last moment?”

Bruda stood straighter, the ends of his hair almost electrified with magical energy. “I’ll do more than that. Daenerys is thousands of miles away but she could still do with our help. If Ustrina notices something is happening, she’ll likely try to lash out or try to do something to stop Daenerys. If we can distract her for long enough, then maybe this could just about work. And who’s to say that we won’t survive? I’m tired of being so negative! It’s such a needlessly heavy burden to carry.” He kissed Melisandre unexpectedly with glee before he quickly moved over to a set of wooden drawers, pulling out the middle one. Inside that was a slender mahogany box, which he handed over to her delicately. When she sent him a questioning look, he nodded his head in encouragement, prompting her to open it. She discovered a thin metal rod, engravings etched into its body, a pattern of swirls that she couldn’t decipher. It looked awfully like something familiar.

“It’s a wand,” he explained. “For you, obviously. I had it crafted using some Valyrian steel salvaged from the wreckage of the Iron Throne. Gendry was all too happy to have a little side project and I made sure it matched my specifications. It’s a tool to hone your skills, like my staff. It should make it easier for you to use your magic, although you’ve shown how capable you are already.”

Melisandre had tears in her eyes. “You...went to this trouble...for me? Why?” 

“You know why,” he answered meaningfully with a soft stare. “I’ll need you to do one thing for me with it. Get my staff. It’ll probably be in her private chambers, where Daenerys used to sleep. You’ve already shown me that you can easily deal with the guards so I have the utmost faith in you that you’ll manage this... _ simple _ task.”

“And what will you be doing during all of this?”

“I’m not hiding anymore. It’s time for one last battle. It’s time I finally confronted Ustrina properly.”

**********

They backed away carefully, warily watching her as her hands brightened, webs of dark web energy dancing around her fingertips. Jorah had instantly positioned himself in front of Daenerys for what good it would do. This woman was a warlock; if she chose to attack and condemn them to death, then there was very little they could do about it. They were at her mercy. At the sight of her sudden shift in demeanour, Tormund and the Hound had drawn their weapons, an axe and a sword respectively. Yet even they could tell that such forms of defence would be useless and trivial against magic. The two of them had seen it in action before, a force greater than any other and far beyond their comprehension. To Sandor Clegane, the wisps and tendrils looked awfully like the sharp tongues of fiery flames, old, terrible memories resurfacing. For a moment, he was transported back to his childhood, tormented by his brother, before he blinked and he was facing Oslen once more.

The only one of the group who had not taken up a defensive position was Jon, who was staring at the woman in sad bewilderment. Nothing had changed about her appearance and yet she still looked different, completely at odds with the young woman he had begun to have feelings for. Her eyes that had been full of wonder and naive innocence had been replaced by dark pools, reflecting the waves of red she was producing. Her smile, which had been so tender and the main thing he had adored about her, was now cruel and twisted, a smirk more than anything, solely displaying glee at the trick she had played. Jon felt utterly foolish, wondering how he had never seen this coming. Her act had been so believable, so earnest...he had actually believed that life had caused her to stumble into his life in a happy accident. Now he truly thought about it, hadn’t she searched him out, instigating their initial meetings? Had everything been a lie all this time? It was almost too much to bear and he understood that he should have been more worried about his life being on the line, but the sound of his heart shattering drowned out all over feelings.

Oslen was the only thing that was standing between them and the tree they had been searching for. Even from the distance it stood away from them, Daenerys could feel a strange pulse emanating from it, as if it was connecting with her, reaching out to her mind. Bruda had spoken about her having her own form of magic, which had been proven by her survival of his attempts to heal her; this felt like more of a confirmation of that fact, a sense that she had returned home despite never being here before. It was exactly as she had seen in her mental prophecy, although she had never imagined someone to be preventing her from reaching it. Was this journey, all of their efforts, doomed to fail when they had gotten so close to succeeding? Daenerys had seen the capabilities of magic in her life and knew that, if Olsen so wished, she could strike them all down without breaking a sweat. She held onto Jorah’s arm, pushing him away slightly so that she could face their opponent directly. She had no intention of appearing meek in the face of death, she had witnessed it too much to be scared of it anymore.

“Is someone going to explain to me what the fuck is going on?” Tormund asked bluntly, never one for the fine art of diplomacy.

“I think she’s in league with Ustrina,” Daenerys answered scathingly, glaring at the other woman. “She betrayed us. She’s been lying to you from the start.”

“But you were one of us!” Tormund shouted angrily. “The Hornflower tribe, I knew them personally. They would have known if you had infiltrated their ranks. It’s not possible.”

“It’s amazing what a little burst of magic can do,” Oslen said, her voice mocking and cold, even colder than their surroundings. “One little whisper of persuasion in the ear and soon...people eventually forget to ask questions. I had to spend years living like you, such a pitiful existence. I did more than Ustrina ever has, I sacrificed more of my life to make this all a success. But now it’s all worth it.” Her hands had stopped glowing, there no longer being any need to ward them off. They had easily gotten the message.

“So why did she send you away?” Daenerys asked, an eyebrow raised. “What was your plan here? You’re obviously going to kill us here so there’s no danger in explaining things.”

“We knew of your connection to the North through the war you fought together. It was one aspect we didn't have control over so we sought to rectify that. I was the contingency, put in place to dictate things beyond Ustrina’s reach. She should never have allowed you to escape King’s Landing but her finesse has always been lacking. My task was simply to defend our livelihood so here I am.”

“The tree,” Daenerys summarised. “You can’t allow us to destroy it because we were right - it will kill Ustrina. And you.”

“Ustrina always spoke about how you had the knack for discovering things you shouldn’t so she was wary of you unearthing this truth too. Magic stems from this tree; all we have worked for would be lost if it were to fall victim to you.” Oslen was close to them now, keeping them all in her sight. “You have one major weakness, Targaryen, that I’m not plagued with. The constant willingness to trust and love others. Jon Snow was the perfect way of getting to you. If he trusted me, then you would. It worked rather well. I was the one who showed Jon this place, he inevitably told you about it, and you came here. It was convoluted and tedious but I couldn’t afford anyone else discovering my intentions.”

“So everything was a lie?” Jon asked forlornly, his head bowed until he stared directly into her eyes. “Everything you said, everything you professed to me. Your...feelings. I opened myself up to you!”

Oslen smiled sadly, pitifully. “Would it hurt less if I told you that I did and still do love you? Maybe you made me see another way, a better way to live. How much do you want me to say that?” She stroked his face softly and it hurt Jon to keep looking at her. But he couldn’t move his head, some unseen force preventing him from averting his gaze.

“Stay away from him,” Daenerys ordered and Oslen surprisingly backed away, a smirk on her face. “I still don’t understand. Why tell Jon about it? We would never have known about its existence. There wouldn’t have been any need for this journey. You could have killed us at Winterfell. Why here? Why all this effort?”

“I showed Jon to keep it under our control. The use of Brandon Stark’s testimony about his lineage would have led to him looking into other observations by his deceased brother. The one other person who knew about the tree’s importance.” They could tell that Oslen was growing angry at having to explain everything. “From the point I showed him this secret of mine, I not only had his trust but it also meant he would come to me for more knowledge about it when the time came. As for not killing you, would you believe me if I said it was because we still had hope for you? That you could see the benefit of our work? How do you think you saw your loved ones so far away from Ustrina’s powers? It was all me, one last chance for you to see the error of your ways and you couldn’t even do that. You had a chance to embrace their return and yet you abandoned them.” She let out a sigh, shaking her head. “ So...it’s a distasteful thing I have to do here. We have never wanted death. Our mission is to bring life. Such a detestable act should be carried out far away from the kingdom we intend to create. The final scorn of death.”

“What if you fail?” Daenerys wondered, moving past how insane she and her reasoning sounded. “There’s nothing to stop us from destroying the tree, even with you here.” 

Oslen laughed. “If you take one step towards it, I will strike you down like a person steps on a bug. You are nothing compared to me, meaningless. And you have lost.”

Daenerys smiled as, as if on cue, the loud noise of flapping wings filled the air, followed by a brief but mighty roar. Above the trees behind them, Drogon’s head appeared, angrily baring his sharp teeth as he eyed the enemy. Not fearing what the witch could do, Daenerys walked backwards to greet him, stroking his chin as she stared at Oslen. “And do your powers have any effect on a dragon, I wonder. Are you willing to take the risk?”

“Are you?” she shot back and, in an instant, she was beside Jorah, her hand positioned over his neck. Red energy appeared once again, hot to the touch on his skin. He tried grasping at her arms but he found his hands could barely move. The knight looked at Daenerys defeatedly, fearing that he had failed her. He had become exactly what he had feared - her weakness. “You set your dragon away and your love perishes. Is it a price worth paying?”

“Khaleesi,” Jorah managed to say through a choke. “Do not hesitate. My life is not worth the millions of people in the Seven Kingdoms. You can save them all. You can be their queen like you said you would.”

Oslen cooed softly, mocking the tender moment between the two. “Your knight wouldn’t be so brave if he understood the sacrifice necessary to carry out this act. That tree is the centre of all magic. Destroy it and you end magic too. Your life would be forfeit. The very dragon that ends its life would turn to dust in your fingers as your heart lets out. Tell me, Targaryen, are you willing to put an end to everything you have made of yourself, to lose it for the kingdom you claim to rule?”

Daenerys looked between Jorah and Oslen, Drogon, and the tree, a choice firmly in her head. But was it the right one?

**********

Bodies littered the hallway as she sauntered between them, the slightest of sheens of sweat on her forehead. There had been more guards in this part of the castle, as she neared the private quarters of their ruler, which had meant she’d actually been forced to put some effort into defending herself. But still, Melisandre had been able to take them all out, the soldiers unconscious and still breathing. She was no longer as quick to want to enact death, not like in her previous life. And most of them had been men who had fought beside her in the war against the undead, faces she didn't know but still felt she recognised. She hadn’t wanted to kill them, although Bruda would have been the first to tell her that they hadn’t been alive for quite some time. Ustrina had seen to that, her vision of life being born from a necessity of death, a paradox that still baffled Melisandre somewhat. It spoke of how unhinged their opponent truly was, even if she portrayed a facade of calmness, which was the reason why so many had underestimated. They would not make that same mistake again. As she looked down at the men she had felled, considering the arguments for whether they were still living, she knew it didn't matter anymore. Once Daenerys carried out her plan, they would no longer exist, or so they hoped. And maybe she would be taken with them too. There was no time to worry about it.

Melisandre approached the chamber she had been looking for, glancing down at the wand in her hand. She had felt so  _ powerful _ when she had cast her spells, attacking the guards. She had been able to do some miraculous things beforehand, such as defending herself and Gendry from Ustrina’s initial attack on the city, but her capabilities had been magnified through the conductor. Exactly as Bruda had said it would; she should have known by now not to doubt him. And it had felt extremely comfortable in her hand, as if it had been a part of her, an extension of her body. The magic had flowed from her hand, through the wand, making it glow a vibrant mixture of blue and purple, and then the soldiers had been on the floor. All of the doubts she had had about her potential and ability to embrace Bruda’s magic were gone, having slowly dissipated from the moment she’d first used it. Unstoppable was a word she might have used to describe herself at the moment in time but the old warlock would have told her to not get cocky. They weren’t out of the woods just yet.

Placing her hand on the knob of the door, Melisandre was surprised to find that it was unlocked. She entered the room slowly and carefully but soon realised that no one was inside. If she had needed any proof that Melisandre had taken her victory for granted, believing that she didn't need any safeguards to protect herself, then this was it. The object she was looking for was placed in the corner, the staff leaning against a desk. She was hesitant to put her hands on it, wary that some charms may have been placed on it, some sort of defense mechanism. But nothing happened. It felt too easy as she picked it up, swirling it around in her hands. Melisandre had never held it before and was fairly stunned at how light it was, presuming that Bruda had made that the case for ease of transport. She really shouldn’t have been wasting time pondering that point, knowing she had to get it to Bruda before he did something hasty or rash, his signature move.

Racing through the corridors, only having to stop a couple of times to tackle more helpless guards, Melisandre found Bruda waiting by the main entrance. Two men lay his feet, the only evidence that a fight had gone down during her absence. He was breathing heavily, too much for her liking. She kept forgetting how old he was with how energetic his personality tended to be, as well as the fact that he hadn’t had any opportunity to do something like this for a while. He was probably a tad rusty, though she wasn’t prepared to say that to him, less she hurt his ego. Bruda smiled wearily at her as she approached, holding out a hand. She threw the staff into the air, which he caught mid flight, and he spun it around, twirling himself as he did so. It was like being reunited with an old friend. He checked it for any marks, any sign of Ustrina tampering with it, but there was none. If he had been in her position, he probably wouldn’t have been able to resist the temptation. It reaffirmed the beliefs he had about her personality and tendencies, that she was solely focused on her own goals, never getting distracted by anything else. It was a commendable trait to have...if he hadn’t been against her.

“So what do we do now?” Melisandre asked, watching him fondly as he got reacquainted with his staff. She looked through the large open doors, seeing the city in the distance. It was quiet, almost as if it was waiting for something to happen.

“We draw Ustrina out. Get her attention. There’s no chance of us being able to do anything inside the Keep. I need her exposed. She won’t be able to resist the challenge. Put her powers into question and she won’t stand for it. Her major flaw. As well as being a complete maniac.” Bruda sent Melisandre a grin, although his next actions were beginning to eat away at him.

“How do we get her to come out though? She’s perfectly safe inside her. If I were her, I wouldn’t be falling into your obvious trap.”

“The thing is, she probably won’t see it as a trap,” he continued to explain. “She doesn’t think I can do anything to stop her. The battles we’ve had so far have been easy for her really. I’m just an old man. Not enough to cause her any trouble. I’ll simply make some noise, give her an excuse to finish me off.”

Melisandre didn't particularly like the sound of that. “And what will I be doing as you...make some noise?”

“Staying here,” he instructed quickly, giving her a serious look.

The way her neck spun around so violently at his words, he was worried that she might have broken it. To say her expression was angry was an understatement. Fury was evident in her eyes as she glared at him. “You can’t be serious. I’m not leaving you to do this on your own! You just said it yourself, that you haven’t been able to defeat her so far. What’s going to be different this time?”

“Maybe I’ll get lucky.” His optimism didn't seem to be having the desired effect on her. “Listen...Ustrina doesn’t even know you’re here. I’d like to keep it that way. I’ve put you at risk too many times already to even contemplate doing it again.” Bruda kissed her forehead lightly, trying not to think about the tears that were clearly brimming in her eyes. “Let me save you this time. Let me do my job.”

“It isn’t your job to sacrifice yourself for me,” Melisandre choked out. 

He smiled sadly at her as he held her close. “Of course it is. It always has been. And, hey...have some more faith in my chances. I reckon I could get the better of her this time.” He winked playfully but there was no smile on her face.

“You said we were going to stand together one last time. If Daenerys does destroy magic, this will be the last time we see one another. Are you really going to leave me like this? After everything we’ve been through? I thought I’d shown you how far I’ve come with my powers. You shouldn’t get to make this decision.”

Bruda sighed as he closed her eyes, resting his forehead against hers. “Oh, Melisandre. You will never have any idea of how  _ proud _ I am of you. How far you’ve come. I’m making this decision so that all of that progress and growth isn’t going to go to waste. If I can give you any chance of surviving...then I’ll take it.” Bruda looked deeply into her eyes and smiled. This time, she did smile back, against her wishes. She wasn’t going to allow their last moments to be scarred by tears. They shared a tender, longing kiss, wishing they had time for more. But then Bruda was pulling away, knowing time was against them. “If this is the last time...just know that you always had my...oh, you already know, don’t you?”

The warlock began to walk, waving his staff in the air. Melisandre was about to run after him, not accepting his choice, but she met an invisible wall in her path, unable to get past it. His final attempt at saving her from herself. She started to cry as she watched his silhouette disappear before the anger took control. Why should she take this lying down? Bruda himself had taught her to be better than that. Maybe his lessons would backfire on him.

He found himself in the centre of the city, an abandoned square that had once been full of people but was now eerily empty. He glanced up at the surrounding buildings, wondering if he would catch a glimpse of those inside, who were hiding from their queen. Their tangible fear of Ustrina was all the proof he needed that he was doing the right thing. For a moment, he allowed a silence to settle, the calm before the storm. Then he lifted his staff before smashing it against the ground, a shockwave of magical energy ringing out from the impact. A dull tone spread across the city. A mere warning shot. He repeated the action, standing firm as he did so. Between each bang, the space between them decreased, before he was practically drumming his staff against the ground, calling for Ustrina to show herself. He chose to fire out a firework of red into the air, as if she didn't already know where he was. And then he waited.

It didn't take long for the sound of marching footsteps to appear in the distance. He was rather flattered, that his escape warranted such a big and quick response despite his past failures. Bruda turned his head to look behind him. At least a hundred soldiers were there, blocking the streets, surrounding him in the square. As he looked forward once again, he was met with a similar sight, any route of escape blocked off by a small army. In a blaze of red fire and black smoke, the woman he had been waiting for appeared before him, some several hundred metres away. Ustrina glared at him, although it soon turned into a delicious smirk. 

“You never learn, do you?” she shouted, as if she were tired with all of his antics. He could tell that she secretly enjoyed the challenge. “I’ve been too lenient on you it seems. I warned you what would happen if you defied me once more. You brought this on yourself, you old fool.”

Bruda didn't say anything, simply smiling as he closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the worst time to tell you all that I'll be having a short break from writing. Only for a couple of weeks. It is Christmas after all! But after such a big cliffhanger...I am evil, aren't I? Mark my words, I'll be back with the final few chapters soon!


	35. Choices and Stalling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final battles are waged as the fight against the darkness heads to its conclusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new year's treat! A long chapter because it's the biggest chapter! Will everyone make it out alive? You'll have to read on to find out. Two more chapters after this; the end is in sight.

Bruda was standing there motionless, surrounded by a small army of undead men, headed by a smirking woman who he detested with all of his might. He’d faced worse odds before and somehow come out of the other side with his life still intact so maybe he could pull off one more miracle. That’d be nice. Then he’d take some time off probably. Go travelling somewhere to unwind. Take a boat eastwards with Melisandre for a few months and then return eventually, energy restored. Or maybe he would love it too much in the eastern cities, with their spices and vibrancy, and would never come back. The future was full of so many wonderful possibilities that he could have easily spent a lifetime thinking about them. With the look Ustrina had given him when she had found him in the centre of King’s Landing, he presumed that the amount of time left in his life was minimal. Again, it was something he had accepted; in truth, he hadn’t expected to survive this long after she had taken control of the kingdom. A miracle of defiance, he would call it. The one thing Bruda couldn’t stop thinking about, as this final showdown approached him, was the first time he had met her. He remembered how intrigued he had been about her. She had been so pleasant and mysterious, a conundrum that he’d wanted to solve. Ustrina had constantly mentioned how she wanted to make people happy, something he had seen as a wonderful trait to have; he just hadn’t believed it could involve such despicable lengths to reach it in her vision. His mistake had been born out of hopeful trust and now he had an opportunity to finally rectify it. 

When he opened his eyes though, he wasn’t focused on her or the hundreds of soldiers flanking her. Time seemed to slow down, almost standing still, as he turned his head to the side. A gorgeous woman was looking at him, a sight that sent a dagger to his heart. Isabella smiled at him sadly as she stepped closer and, in her eyes, Bruda could see how she knew what was about to happen. Her apparent acceptance lifted a weight from his shoulders, seemingly making it easier for him to do this. He had been dreaming for too long, believing that his past life could be brought back, the joy his younger self had been filled with before disaster had stripped that away from him. Now it was time to wake up, to learn that her presence would never truly leave him. Waking up now only meant that he’d get to see her when the dreams returned at night. It was a trade he was willing to make. As he stared at her, he was transported back to the darkest day in his memory, the drizzle falling down around their tiny little cottage in the middle of nowhere. He could see her dying body in his arms, the life leaving her eyes as he wailed and pleaded with her to stay with him. It was funny that, after the hardship her ghost had put him through, he was now thankful for the extra time he’d been given with her. Because now, he would always remember how as she was in this moment, alive and just as wonderful as the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. Yet was he ready to lose her all over again?

Isabella placed a comforting hand on his arm. “I am so very proud of you,” she whispered softly. “The one fear I had when I returned was whether I would see you and you would be a completely different man. But you are still the same. Just as strong, just as wonderful, just as caring. You had changed but you had simply grown to be even better somehow.” She could feel his arm shaking and her grip grew stronger to support him. “You have come so far. You can let go now. You don’t have to prove yourself to me anymore.”

“I was...going to...cook,” he choked out, his eyes brimming with tears that felt exactly the same as they had centuries ago. 

“I know,” she replied with a smile. “It would have been the greatest meal I’d ever had, I just know it. But that doesn’t take anything away from all the other meals we had together, does it? Remember what we had, not what we lost.”

“You wanted to raise an entire army of children. The girls would have been smart and creative, challenging the rulebook of society. The boys would have been strong and adventurous. The world would have been made a better place by them.”

“The world didn't deserve their brilliance. But you still get to appreciate that since they’re still in your head, just as alive as they would have been. For as long as they stay in your memory, they’re not truly gone. You could have done with learning that a long time ago but certain lessons require a journey to understand them.”

Bruda stared into her eyes. “Am I strong enough to do this?” He didn't really know the answer yet. How many times had he relied on her to keep his faith strong.

“You always have been,” she assured him. “There is no one stronger than you. One final push and you’ll be done. After all you’ve been through, I know that you have it within you to do this. And that woman...she adds to your strength. I always said that you would find someone else to love and I am so happy that you did. Although I do remember asking that she shouldn’t be as pretty as me but Melisandre is gorgeous. Maybe I’ll let you off.”

He wanted to chuckle at her comments but he couldn’t bring himself to laugh. Isabella gave him another smile, one he would remember for the rest of his life, no matter how long that was. “Can you do one last thing for me?” she asked. He nodded his head tentatively. “Say good night for me. So I can finally, properly rest like I should have done a long time ago. And so I know that you’ll still be awake.”

Bruda wanted to cry so much but he held himself together, being as strong as she believed he was. “Good night, my sweet Isabella. Until the next time I see you.” And he watched as her body slowly disappeared from sight, as he finally let go of her, as he finally freed himself from the guilt her memory had always brought up. He was brought back to reality as he stared down Ustrina, standing taller and feeling mightier than he had for a while. He watched as Ustrina waved away her guards, walking away from them as she approached him alone. She wanted to do this on her own, defeat him as she should have done from the moment she had him alone. But Bruda was not about to back down.

**********

Daenerys’ thoughts hardly made sense to her as she stood there in the snow, her love at the mercy of the sorceress. It was now more than ever that she wished she had Bruda by her side, with no one in their small group able to do anything against Oslen’s magic. They were at her mercy, powerless...something Daenerys wasn’t all too familiar with. Even with Drogon looming over her, she didn't feel confident. She had hoped that Oslen would appear afraid at the sight of the dragon (most people tended to be) but her icy expression hadn’t changed in the slightest. A new conundrum was also flummoxing the former, rightful, queen. Was their opponent lying when she claimed that all magic would die if the tree was destroyed? Would she die too? Bruda had told her that her body held some form of magic so it made sense. She looked at the magnificent tree in the near distance, noting how serene it seemed compared to the chaos before it. How could something so apparently benign be the root cause of so much trouble? And wonder, she reminded herself. For a second, she made herself think back on the premonitions she’d had, so long ago now. Daenerys had seen that tree turn to dust...did that remove the element of choice she had now?

“You’re lying,” she said strongly, hoping to convince herself that it was true. “One final bluff with your life on the line.”

Oslen arched an eyebrow, giving Daenerys some credit for how she wasn’t backing down just yet. Even with her knight cowering in front of her. “You know I’m telling the truth. I’m doing it out of kindness. I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret. No one should be able to enact so much death with so much ease.”

“I certainly won’t regret shoving this into your head,” Tormund roared, brandishing his axe, but Daenerys was quick to grip his arm, helped in part by Jon.

“No,” she said softly, sadly, defeatedly. “I’m not going to risk Jorah’s life. He’s put my life before everything else for too long for me to throw his away.” The man in question struggled against his invisible restraints, trying to convince Daenerys to change her mind but he was unable to force any words out. Even moving was proving to be difficult and painful. She smiled wearily at him as she turned to the black beast behind her. Drogon lowered his head as she approached, as if he knew what was about to be asked of him. With all of their eyes on her, Daenerys whispered quietly into the creature’s ear, giving him his orders. There was a questioning look in his eyes, clearly not willing to do this, but her expression was grim and determined. She had made up her mind; there was simply no choice. And she wouldn’t have been able to live with herself if she made any other decision. 

The others looked on in shock as Drogon raised his massive wings and lifted himself from the ground. Oslen’s magic flared around Jorah’s neck as she watched the dragon, worried that it might go straight for the tree. But, instead, he turned around in the air and flew in the opposite direction, much to her delight. She was surprised that Daenerys had done that, breathing a sigh of relief. Oslen noticed that Daenerys was staring at her, her hands clenched into fists.

Sandor Clegane shook his head in frustration. “Well, you’ve just gone and fucked us all, haven’t you? The one advantage we had...and you just went and told it to fucking leave.”

“I’d watch your mouth around her,” Jon warned, although it didn't seem to have any effect on the Hound. “I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.” He glanced at her though and, in her eyes, he could see elements of self doubt and confusion, completely different to the surety that usually controlled her actions. He was scared that she had thought with her heart, instead of her mind.

“Now let him go,” Daenerys ordered Oslen. “We can’t harm you now. If you’re going to kill us, then at least let us be together in our final moments.”

Oslen smirked and shoved Jorah away, sending him tumbling to the ground and into the snow. Daenerys helped him up and was met with a cold expression, his blue eyes frosty. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “You’ve doomed us all.” They looked up at Oslen, who certainly seemed more confident now she didn't have a dragon glaring at her.

“You should still have faith. Not all is lost.” Daenerys glared at the other woman as she advanced closer to them, praying that she had done the right thing, that time was still on their side. Maybe her choice would make Oslen more careless, which appeared to be the case from her allowing Jorah to come back. He didn't look hurt in any way, which comforted Daenerys somewhat. Now it was time to hope.

**********

Ustrina was standing right in front of him but she didn't make any move to attack. Bruda gazed at her through tired eyes, wishing that the endless cycle of fighting would come to an end. In truth, a small part of him still believed that he could somehow talk her out of this, convince her to change her ways before too much damage had been done. He smiled ruefully; maybe she had been correct in calling him an old fool if he still thought that was a possibility. Too many people had already died at her hands for there to be any chance of her seeing the error of her ways. He wished more than anything that she could have stayed as the woman he first met in the busy inn - she could have been so much greater than she turned out to be. It was sad really. Bruda always tried to see the best in people (well, sometimes. He was actually pretty quick to judge a person but now wasn’t the time to be debating those sentiments).

He was fully aware of how blatantly isolated he was. Even though Ustrina had told her undead soldiers to stay back, a move of overconfidence that he hoped would work in his favour, there were still hundreds surrounding them and the little arena their forthcoming battle would take place in. So far, Bruda was standing his ground firmly but he knew that, if she pushed him back far enough, he would end up walking right into the army behind him. He was sure that she wanted to be the one to finally finish him off but he also believed she wouldn’t mind watching someone else do it either. There was only time to focus on one issue though and, since Ustrina was most definitely the more dangerous threat (especially with the way her eyes seemed to be glowing with fury), she had his full attention.

“We could have achieved so much,” she sighed and, surprisingly, Ustrina sounded like she was genuinely upset that he hadn’t been able to see events from her point of view. “Together, we could have ruled the world. I really wanted that to happen, you should know that.”

“I know,” he replied gravely, his head partly bowed. He felt really old at the moment in time, as the consequences of his past actions resurfaced in his mind, as the painfulness of his duty now hit home. “But I never wanted that and you could never see past that.”

“Why?” she asked, appearing curious as to how his intentions could be so different to hers, as if it simply didn't make sense to her. “Why would you not want to rule when you already have so much power? It’s the logical next step and it would have allowed you to accomplish so much more than you have done.”

Bruda’s smile was a sad one, one that came with years of experience. “Your view of what constitutes an accomplishment is a lot different to mine. I saved lives, I formed friendships, I fell in love. I’d say they are pretty good accomplishments to look back on. If you had told me in my youth that the grand sum of my life would amount to that, I would have been extremely happy.” He glanced around the square they were in, taking in the abandoned buildings, the streets in a state of disrepair. “A person can become greedy when they have power like we do. Nothing is ever enough. You didn't want to just live, you wanted to rule over life itself and no one can do that. Not even someone as brilliant as you.” 

She seemed surprised at the compliment but she knew that he meant in. Bruda took a step closer to her, Ustrina unmoving in the face of his advances. “And we already had the best ruler to lead this kingdom. You learn over time that, sometimes, another person is better suited to a job than you are. Daenerys Targaryen is more of a ruler than me. She has patience and generosity and a hidden strength that still surprises me. And she is a greater ruler than you tenfold. Because she has kindness and forgiveness and an element of humanity that I think you lost a long time ago.”

Ustrina’s smirk disappeared at his comment, replaced by an insulted frown. “You stand here, defeated, and yet you still have the nerve to say these things to my face. I praise your bravery if nothing else, warlock. But it won’t be enough this time.”

Bruda shrugged his shoulders in a manner that told her he just didn't care anymore. And that was the first time she felt scared, that something was about to happen that she hadn’t predicted. “Who said anything about me being defeated?”

As if on cue, a fiery explosion tore through one of the stone towers near them, sending it hurtling towards the ground. Through the flames and black smoke, a shadow appeared, eventually replaced by the sight of Viserion soaring towards them. Bruda, having not expected this development himself, looked on in shock as the dragon circled them. The soldiers all looked up at the terrifying sight (although they didn't feel any of the fear they should have done) and raised their weapons, poised to fight. Some threw their spears whenever the beast got close enough but their efforts were futile and pointless. The sharp points had no effect on the dragon, not threatening to pierce its scaly skin in the slightest. Their defiance only served to make Viserion angrier as he let out a deafening roar. The soldiers that had been behind Bruda were standing there one second, engulfed in flames the next. Where he expected screams of agony, there were few shouts of pain, which made the image even more disturbing. Some of them attempted to flee the fire that was already destroying their bodies, writhing along the floor before they disintegrated into dust. Viserion kept making long, lazy swoops through the sky, taking out battalions at a time. 

As he watched the attack unfold gratefully, Bruda only just managed to spot Ustrina moving behind him. As she waved her hand in anger, seeing her hard work destroyed so easily, a red bolt of magical energy left her fingertips, flying towards the old warlock. He only just managed to raise his staff in time, deflecting the shot and sending it careening into another building. Not pausing to see the extent of the damage he had just caused, Bruda was then forced to defend himself again from an onslaught of attacks, Ustrina attempting to batter him into submission through sheer force and power. A blue dome erected around him, sprouting from the tip of his staff, which gave him a reprieve, watching Ustrina tire herself out. Holding out for a few seconds, Bruda tried to take the initiative, using some of the wreckage he’d just created and making it fly through the air towards her. This time, it was her who had to take drastic action to prevent being injured, although she easily swatted away his attacks. His continued perseverance seemed to only make her more furious, her hair almost electrified with how much energy was coursing through her.

Ustrina walked towards him, swinging her arms to fire attack after attack that he struggled to bat away. Thinking fast, Bruda slammed his staff into the ground, a blue shockwave ricocheting around them. It served to halt her temporarily, making it more difficult for her to move. With an angry shout, she clenched her fists and then through her arms out wide. The outburst of magical energy overcame his defences and caused him to stumble to the ground. Neither one of them was interested in what the dragon was doing in the background, Ustrina not seeing it as the most annoying threat. She could always bring back the soldiers she’d lost, once he was out of the way. Her gorgeous face was contorted into an ugly grimace, dirty and covered by her red hair. Gritted teeth made it look as if she were snarling as she slowly approached him. Bruda did his best to stand up but she sent another bolt towards him which he had to deflect away instead. She towered over and he met her dark gaze in one last act of strength before she fired a stream of red light towards him.

**********

Daenerys held the hand of Jorah, who was standing next to her. In the few moments after Drogon had left them, a strange silence of anticipation had settled amongst their group. Their eyes were fixated on Oslen, who was practically prowling across the snow-kissed field they found themselves in. The warlock appeared to be rejuvenated after Daenerys had made her decision, a worrying sight for them all. Yet Daenerys, despite the concerned looks coming from Jon and Tormund (Sandor’s face was still permanently set in a murderous glare), was standing there confidently, refusing to back down, regardless of how dire the situation seemed to be. The knight beside her wanted to know why there was still a gleam in her eyes, something he hadn’t seen a lot of in the recent months. Why, of all times, was her confidence returning now? He thought about asking her, whispering in her ear as if they weren’t facing death, but he was worried too much that Oslen would see it as them acting against her and lash out accordingly. His neck was still stinging from his close encounter with her magic.

“Why haven’t you killed us yet?” Daenerys asked out of the blue, as if she were impatient for that outcome to arrive. The men she had travelled with all gave her matching bewildered looks, sure that she had lost her mind for good.

“Oh, yeah, just antagonise her further,” Tormund shot out disparagingly. “Poke the angry fucking bear. Why not tell her exactly how to do us in? Line us all up, take us out one by one. Maybe you’ll bloody well assist her.”

Daenerys glared at her companion, which was enough to silence him. “Seriously...you have us at your mercy right now and yet you falter. Is there a reason for that?”

Oslen smiled at her impudence, seeing it as a final show of her fiery personality. “I don’t have the same lust for death as you may do. You take lives so easily, with hardly any thought for those you wipe out. You have always hidden behind the flames of your dragons, distancing yourself from the destruction they cause on your instructions. In comparison, I toiled over doing this for weeks. I could have killed you whenever I like but no, I  _ tried _ to give you every opportunity to save yourself. When you think about it, who is the monster between us two? It isn’t as black and white as you make out.”

Daenerys’ smile was equally as condescending. “It’s an interesting sentiment and a perspective that I have considered far too many times, mark my words. So there is no need to try and play your little games any longer. Anything you can throw at me, I assure you that I have been through it before. Every decision I have ever made has been done with a warring mind. You don’t scare me and you never will.”

Oslen approached them, intrigued as to where this was coming from. Jorah clutched Daenerys’ arm in fear, wanting to protect her, to stop herself from going too far with her words, but she shrugged away from his grasp to face down her opponent. She stared down the other woman, their faces close, almost touching. Daenerys was surprised at how little fear she actually felt, her comments being entirely truthful when one might suspect they were a defense mechanism. She had been born with a strength that people hadn’t seen until she emerged from the fires with dragons on her back. She had been taught by all those around her that she was special and unique - this woman wasn’t going to cause her to change her mind.

“Would it scare you if I threatened this man again?” Oslen inquired softly. She looked up and down Jorah’s body with a sneer. “You so readily threw away the one thing that would keep you alive because his life was on the line. You claim to be strong and yet you do something like that. No wonder you lost the throne so easily. You’re full of weakness.”

Daenerys’ expression turned angry but it was tempered by a frosty calmness that would have frightened most people in the Realm. “A person who exists alone could never understand the strength that others can give you. I would do anything for him but that doesn’t make me any less strong. It drives me to do better, to make the difficult decisions...because I want to be the woman he sees me as.” She paused to look at Jorah tenderly, as if she were in fact speaking to him. “I didn't lose the throne, as you put it, because I am still the queen of this kingdom. And a queen does whatever is within her power to save them, including risking her own life.” She leaned in close once more, her nostrils flaring as she realised time had finally run out. “And do you want to know what a queen is especially good at?  _ Stalling _ .”

Even before Oslen turned around, she knew what was about to happen. Drogon emerged from behind the tree, having done a circuit around them instead of leaving them behind, and opened his mouth. The warlock screamed in a mixture of fear and anger as the fire escaped from his jaws and plunged the tree into a flurry of destruction. She turned around and desperately fired shots of fizzing magic towards them. Jorah pulled Daenerys to the ground just as one such blast soared above where she had been standing. One of the trees behind them was hit, creaking as it fell down to the ground. Tormund had to quickly act to avoid it, throwing himself into the snow out of the way. As the trunk landed with a heavy thud, they looked up to see that the largest tree in the area was still alight, Drogon continuously adding more fuel to the fire. The wood was visibly blackening and Oslen was down on her knees, a pitiful comparison to who she had been mere seconds ago. She wailed and shrieked as she hugged her body, watching the event unfold in front of her. Daenerys attempted to tune her out as she stared at Jorah one last time, waiting for the same thing to happen to her.

**********   
  


He had closed his eyes when she’d made her final approach. He had closed his eyes fully expecting that it would be the last time he would see the light of day. Surprisingly enough, he was fairly content with that, knowing that he had survived a lot longer than he really should have. His mind was at rest as he waited for the blow that would end his life, expecting it to be quick and painless, which was better than what most people got. But he was left waiting longer than he’d anticipated...and waiting still. He frowned in confusion, opening his eyes to see what was stalling Ustrina. The first thing he noticed was that her face was just as confused as his was, her brows furrowed. She was definitely still trying to kill him but, as he carefully moved his head upwards to look at what was going on, he discovered that her magic was being stopped from reaching him. Her blaze of red energy was being met by a golden stream, clashing and resisting its advances. Bruda’s eyes widened when his eyes fell upon Melisandre standing behind him, her face set in pure concentration as she fought against Ustrina, clutching her new wand with a painfully tight grip. 

Bruda wanted to be angry at her, furious that she had clearly defied his wishes and had put herself into danger for his sake. But there was still the part of him that was unbelievably overjoyed at the sight of her presence, a reminder of something he had come to forget during his time alone in King’s Landing. He didn't have to do things on his own anymore, no matter how much he felt like he had to. He had people willing to put their lives on the line for him, just as much as he was willing to do the same. For someone who had been on their own for so long, it was difficult to wrap his head around that fact. His legs aching from the effort he’d just put in, Bruda forced himself to stand up, sending Melisandre an incredulous look.

“I thought I’d told you to stay out of this!” he shouted, raising his voice to be heard above the noise of the fizzing magic near him. “You should have stayed hidden. I could have sorted this!”

Melisandre gave him a stunned look as she continued to hold back Ustrina. “Do you really think this is the best time to be discussing this?”

Bruda shrugged nonchalantly (he should have been a lot more on edge than he was with what was happening around them). Even Viserion had seemed to run out of soldiers to burn, focused on the tiny battle occuring on the street that he didn't understand. “It might be the only time we get to talk about you never listening to me. It’s a repeated pattern now. I’m worried that all of my instructions have been falling on deaf ears! Have I been wasting my voice all of this time?” He stroked his beard, picking up his staff as he readied himself, facing Ustrina as he prepared to assist the new arrival. “How did you even get past the field I put up?”

“Fairly easily,” Melisandre shot back before she gritted her teeth and sent a shockwave of magical energy pouring out from her wand, sending Ustrina careening to the ground. “I’d hazard a guess that, secretly, you wanted me by your side but you couldn’t find it within yourself to say it. I would have been flattered.”

They were standing side by side now and it felt unnatural to be joking around when they were battling someone who had caused so much pain for them. But they put each other at so much ease that they’d go as far as saying they were almost relaxed. “Well, I’d be a fool to throw away your skills. Look at you...it’s like you’ve been using your magic for centuries, not months.”

Melisandre smiled at the compliment but her eyes were concentrated on Ustrina, who was dusting herself off as she stood up. Her eyes were a light with anger as she glared at the duo. “I wish I’d known that your new love was here, Bruda,” she said in a sickly sweet voice. She sounded so much like the woman he’d first met that it was almost impossible to imagine them being the same, as she stood there, an angry figure, desperately wanting to beat them. “I could have had some fun with her. It was so effective, bringing back Isabella. I’d like to know how much of a puppet you would have been if I’d dangled her in front of you.”

She was forced to swat away a sudden attack from the woman in question, which she did with relative ease. Melisandre was waving her wand ominously in her direction but Bruda put a tentative hand on her shoulder to keep her from losing her composure. He gave her a pointed look as he stared at her before he whispered one word, a word that she hadn’t realised how much she’d wanted to hear from him. “Together.”

She nodded her head and, in unison, they fired identical beams of golden magic towards their opponent. The sheer force pushed Ustrina backwards but she was able to protect herself with a bit of effort. She deflected Bruda’s attack, causing him to almost fall over, as Ustrina turned her attention to Melisandre. She sent three quickfire thrusts towards her, trying to bombard her. The other woman was only just able to stop them from getting through her shield, although the final one caught her on the top of her shoulder. Melisandre shouted out in pain, forced to stop her defense, with only Bruda intervening to stop Ustrina from getting a clear shot at her.

Just as it appeared that she could get an upper hand against the pair, she stopped in her tracks. There was a look of confusion on her face as she clutched her chest all of a sudden. A stabbing pain ripped through her body and she looked at them both, wondering what they were doing to her. Bruda and Melisandre paused as they watched her take a stumbling step backwards, struggling to stay on her feet. An agonising pulse rushed through her chest and she yelled out, trying to stop whatever was happening. She attempted to attack them again but no magic erupted from her hand, no red pulses. Not wanting to accept defeat, she staggered towards them but, before she could reach them, her body crumbled into a pile of dust at their feet. The few soldiers that hadn’t been totally destroyed by Viserion’s attack also disappeared in a similar fashion, leaving the street in a strange silence.

Bruda’s face was grim when he’d expected to be jubilant when Ustrina was finally defeated, an event he had come to think was impossible. He glanced at Melisandre, who was wanting answers, although she had a sense of what had transpired. “Daenerys did it,” he said forlornly. “But at what cost?”

**********

She had closed her eyes in anticipation, unable to watch what was happening to Oslen. It was one thing to despise someone, but it was entirely another to see them be apparently destroyed. She’d clutched tightly onto Jorah, trying to savour the feel of his body, wondering if she would remember it in the next realm that awaited her. Would she go down screaming like Oslen or would she be able to keep it together, maintaining her dignity even in death? She didn't really want to think about it, even though its encroaching shadow was looming ever closer, breathing down her neck, which made her feel as if an icy hand was destined to clutch her arm at any moment. She was so focused on that possibility, fear mixed with acceptance, that it didn't register straight away that the screaming from the other woman had stopped. Wanting to see what had happened, worried that Oslen had somehow survived, Daenerys tentatively opened her eyes. She looked up at Jorah, who was staring at her nervously, as if he too was waiting for something bad to happen. The knight raised his eyebrows and gestured to a spot just in front of them, where a small pile of grey dusty could be seen on top of the snow. They all watched in silence as the remains of the red-headed woman blew away in the gentle breeze, carried away someplace beyond the frozen tundras that surrounded them. Daenerys picked up on the sadness emanating from Jon, who was forced to come to terms with the role he played in killing the woman he had come to care for. But what cheered her up, the sight that gave her a renewed belief of hope, was Drogon flying above the charred body of the mighty tree, now nothing more than a blackened stump. And that was when she realised that she hadn’t faced the same fate as Oslen, which had been the claim from the deceased warlock. Drogon appeared unaffected so would she be too? Or was there just a delay?

“Jorah…” she whispered quietly. “Am I...still alive?”

“I think you are,” he answered with a large smile, something she hadn’t seen enough of in the recent past. 

“But she said...that all magic came from that tree?” She just couldn’t believe it. After so much misery, it didn't make sense that it could all end happily. 

“She probably lied,” Jon spoke up bitterly, his face set in a scowl. “She seemed to be quite good at that.”

Tormund patted him on the back heavily. “Come on now, Crow. We just had a great victory. One that people will tell stories of for centuries. What we don’t need right now is you bringing us down with your negativity.”

Daenerys glared at Giantsbane as she stepped closer to Jon, ignoring the chuckle that came from the Hound. She held Jon’s hand softly, making him look her in the eyes. “I know the pain you’re going through right now. And I can probably guess that you’re more annoyed by the fact that you fell into her lies. But we all did. What matters is that we managed to make up for our mistakes and survived to tell the tale.”

Jon nodded reluctantly. “What do we do now then?”

Daenerys smiled softly as she looked back at Jorah, having wanted to say this for a long time. “We go home. There’s someone I’ve been looking forward to seeing for too long.” She practically raced towards Drogon, the thought of that reunion driving her forward.

**********

Bruda patted his body down, giving Melisandre an unsure look. The silence amongst the city had been going for at least a few minutes now, longer than he’d expected to last. He gazed around the street, watching as Viserion clambered over a building that had been damaged in the battle. There didn't seem to be anyone inside thankfully, otherwise he would have been running over there to help those who were possibly injured. Instead, he was allowed to take a nervous step, testing whether his legs still worked. Baring a few aches and pains that were frankly understandable after the turmoil he’d just put himself through, he found that nothing seemed to be amiss. He stretched out a hand for his love, who took it with a hopeful smile. She was able to move just as easily and that was then Bruda began to smile. The smile turned into a grin, which then turned into a chuckle, before becoming a fully blown chortle, resonating from his chest. Melisandre laughed alongside him, especially when he spun her around as if they were in a ballroom, dancing to unheard music. The warlock couldn’t remember being this happy for a very long time and he was enjoying it immensely. 

“Did Daenerys do it then?” Melisandre asked as she was twirled again, wanting to get a confirmation before she fully threw herself into the celebrations. “If she destroyed the tree and got rid of Ustrina...then surely that should have got rid of us too.”

Bruda shrugged as he continued to dance, for the first time not greatly bothered by the details. “Are you complaining? Maybe I got this one wrong, which you’ll know is something that’s difficult for me to admit. Maybe Ustrina had a certain connection to the tree which we didn't have. For now...let’s just enjoy this moment. Do you know how long I’ve waited to have you in my arms again, the both us being carefree?”

“Probably exactly the same length as time as I’ve waited,” she responded with a raised eyebrow, challenging him.

“Exactly!” he shouted gleefully. “So let’s worry about the details later. I’ll make sure to spend my time researching and looking for answers. But...right now...I wonder if this lady will care to have this dance with me.” He grinned roguishly, even more so when she took his hand again. He was taken by surprise when she started to lead him in dance this time, pulling him around in different directions, as if he hadn’t been tired out enough already. 

As they absorbed themselves in each other’s company, they noticed a door to one of the nearest buildings slowly open, a scruffy head emerging. A man warily stepped outside, looking at them confusedly as they waltzed. Bruda looked towards him and opened his arms out wide, greeting the commoner. 

“It’s safe to come outside now! The threat has gone! Spread the message throughout the city. The queen will return!” He kept his smile although he suddenly realised that he had no idea whether Daenerys was still alive. It soured his mood a great deal but he had to put on a show, wanting the locals to feel at ease after suffering for so many months.

The man, closely followed by two young children and a tired-looking woman, gaped at the old man’s energy. “Are you Queen Daenerys’ warlock?”

“I certainly am,” Bruda replied, his chest puffed out in pride. “So you can take it from me that you can emerge from your homes. I know it’s been difficult but mark my words that things will change. We’ve got a real chance to rebuild something marvellous here.”


	36. Memories and Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People have to move on from the torment of the past months as they look towards rebuilding.

Walking along the streets, which contained a few people milling about, Bruda kicked a broken brick that had fallen from its place in the wreckage. It was another example of the work they had to do in order to properly rebuild. He felt like he had only just finished his first construction job, repairing the throne room, and now he was being faced with another. This one was going to be a lot bigger though, taking up more of his time, stalling that long break he had dreamt of having. Despite the list that was forming in his head of the workload that faced him, the old warlock couldn’t find it within himself to be anything other than happy. He felt fit and healthy for the first time in a while, even though his back still ached and his knees tended to crack when he lifted himself from chairs. Bruda guessed that it was all about mindset, counteracting the actual state his body was in. Every so often, he would feel the wrinkles on his face or sense his hands shaking before promptly thinking about something else to distract himself. Too many positive things had happened recently to focus on any small worries.

One such positive was the fact that people were on the streets. A few stalls were up and running, although the produce they were selling was limited, with traders still not completely sure that it was a safe and profitable thing to enter the city. Only a couple of shops were now open, basically one on every street. One blacksmith, one bakery. Many of the business owners had fled the city in the early days of Ustrina’s false reign, leaving many buildings empty. But it was enough for now, a sign that things were slowly getting back to normal. With each passing day, more and more people were brave enough to venture outside, encouraging others to do the same. As more people roamed the increasingly busy cobbled streets of King’s Landing, more businesses would hopefully reopen. And Bruda believed that the abandoned shops would either see their former owners return once news spread of their victory or new owners buy the property for a cheap price. Small but sustained progress would result in large and lasting impacts, or so he prayed. 

What Bruda had also noticed was that the members of the public, or at least the majority of them, no longer avoided his eye contact. In fact, quite a lot of them would smile when he walked past them or nod their heads in greeting, a far cry from the usual glares and whispered snide remarks that he’d grown used to. He also found himself smiling back at them, so upbeat was his mood. It hinted at the possibility of better relations between him and the people Daenerys ruled over, something she had always wanted to see. Maybe it was down to the fact that some of them must have seen him battling against Ustrina so they felt grateful towards him. And then those that had seen the fight would have told others, spreading the story around until it became fantasised and overly hyped. The last thing he wanted was people ogling him like some sort of hero though; his ego was already large enough without him also having a saviour complex. For now, a smile was good enough for him.

With his thoughts drifting back to Daenerys with those considerations, his chipper demeanour took a hit as he wondered where she was. Every morning, Bruda would wake up and immediately look out from his window, hoping to see her and Drogon flying towards the city, her city. So far, that hope had not come to fruition. The longer he was forced to wait, the more that irritating voice inside his head started to whisper, trying to make him believe that something had gone wrong beyond the Wall. He and Melisandre had survived the ramifications of the magical tree being destroyed but what if Daenerys hadn’t? All of that hope he had been imbued with would be for nothing, their unlikely success in the face of great evil would have been rendered useless. He couldn’t afford losing her, not when he had begun to think that he was going to get her back. Melisandre, when she saw the sour expression on his face when his mind turned to this possibility, would tell him that there was no point in thinking like this. Until they got confirmation one way or the other, all they could do was make sure that the city was in a good condition for her return. Bruda would always reply that it wasn’t that simple. Her retort tended to be that nothing ever was when it came to their lives. 

He was walking down the central street of King’s Landing, pondering what he had to do on today’s agenda. Bruda hoped that it had nothing to do with meeting the local gentry or heads of noble families who wanted to know what was going on in regards to their leader. Sure, they were rather important and pressing concerns that would dictate the future of the Realm but they were always  _ so _ boring, their worries normally solely focused on themselves rather than the welfare of the kingdom. And Bruda could usually tell that those who wanted to know about Daenerys and who was currently sitting on the throne were actually thinking about whether they could use these unprecedented times as an opportunity to take it for themselves. After all, King’s Landing barely had an army to defend itself now, with its soldiers decimated by Ustrina and then Viserion’s fiery vengeance. The city was susceptible to attack if anyone was brave enough to try it. Bruda knew that the number of people who fell into that category would diminish greatly once there were multiple dragons back in their home.

When Viserion let out a large roar from somewhere near the city perimeter, Bruda’s first instinct was that someone was trying their luck and attempting to attack them. He frantically looked around, seeing how most of the people were equally concerned. He glanced back at the Red Keep in the distance, knowing it would take a while for Melisandre to reach them, after the time it took to get a message to her. Only they would be able to do anything to stop an enemy. Yet the strangest feeling washed over him when he heard another mighty bellow, this time not coming from the dragon that was with them. The primal fear he had felt was suddenly replaced with enthusiastic hope as he realised he knew who that roar belonged to. Those around him must have thought that his large smile and wide eyes gave him a rather feral appearance but he didn't care about that. Once he saw the black wings heading towards the dragon pit, barely registering that another two of the beasts were following it closely behind, Bruda started to run towards that location.

He didn't know exactly how long it took him to get there but it was certainly quicker than an old man like himself should have been able to cover such a distance. It had given Drogon enough time to land on the soft sand of the pit, Bruda noticing that he was warily sniffing around, as if to make sure none of the dark magic that had trapped him here remained. Thankfully, he was reassured enough that its presence had been removed, allowing him to settle down enough to let those on his back slide down. The warlock registered that Rhaegal and Hidebyo also landed in the pit, with other people being carried by them, as well as Viserion arriving to greet his brothers, but he was too focused on the flash of blonde hair that appeared. His breath seemed to stop when he saw her face, the proof he’d been waiting for that she had survived, even more so when their eyes locked. Daenerys gracefully lowered herself down Drogon’s side (Jorah managed to do so with a great deal more difficulty) and then seemed to freeze in place once she was on the ground.

Bruda had no idea what to do. He wanted to run towards her, wrap his arms around her and swing her in a circle through the air. He wanted to make sure that she was actually real, that it wasn’t another cruel trick, another oasis formed by his heart. Yet his legs refused to move because he was scared. In actual fact, he was fairly terrified. The last time he had seen her, months ago, his betrayal had been unearthed, his role in Ustrina’s rise explained. She had seemed unwilling to leave him at the time and he had outlined how his intentions were genuine and pure...but that didn't detract from the fact that he had let her down once again, the fact that he didn't deserve to be in her good favour. He had been dismissed from her council once before and, if he were in her shoes, he would be ordering the same thing to happen for a second time, an outcome he was simply petrified of. She would be angry at him for causing all of this, pent up fury being unleashed on him, the result of months of wanting to get it out in the open. He would bow his head, whisper his pathetic apologies, tell her how happy he was that, despite everything, she had survived, and then leave. That was what should happen. He hadn’t expected her to smile broadly at the sight of him. Jorah, just behind her, gently pushed her to move towards him. Davos, Gendry, and little Shireen, who had ridden on Rhaegal, watched in the background at the tender scene, whilst Bronn and Missandei tried to assist Tyrion in getting down from Hidebyo’s back. 

Daenerys stopped just short of Bruda, almost shy. She brushed a tendril of hair behind her ear as she looked up at him, a warm smile on her face. She reached out a hand, placing it on his face. Bruda closed his eyes at the touch, remembering a time when he thought he would never feel it again. 

“You have no idea how good it is to see you,” he said quietly, staring at her.

Daenerys’ smile only broadened at his words. “Likewise, Bruda. I’ve been dreaming about this for months and now it’s a reality. And it’s just as sweet a moment as I imagined.”

**********

The air in the room as he walked in was musty and arid, untouched for days. It brought on a short burst of coughs from him as he tried to cover his mouth, looking around the small chamber. Bruda had decided that it was time he paid a visit to Marwyn’s old quarters, a place he hadn’t been to since the old man’s unfortunate death. The entire room felt like a time capsule, frozen from an era before Ustrina’s destruction, before Daenerys’ grand return. A few books were still left open from where he presumed Marwyn had been reading them, trying to figure some last theory out. There was also a fair mess on the floor, broken bottles, scattered pieces of paper, and a toppled candle, that had thankfully not been lit. The only signs of struggle from when he had been dragged from here by mindless soldiers to be killed mercilessly. Bruda still felt immensely guilty about his fate, believing that it was all his fault. The blame weighed heavily down upon his shoulders, as did the consequences of many of his past actions. 

He knew that the grandmaester would have enjoyed watching Daenerys take back her throne. Soon after she had landed, the people of the city had congregated to see her, wanting to see with their own eyes that it was true that their ruler had finally come home. Some people had clapped, some people had shouted, some people had just stood there in silence, unable to form any suitable response after months of torment and misery. Daenerys had smiled and waved, speaking to a few of them that were close enough to be within earshot. Yet her intentions had been clear; she’d wanted to get back to the Red Keep as soon as possible, to make sure her throne was still there, to make the first step back towards reality. Jorah and Bruda had done well to form a route for her through the busy crowd, allowing her to walk along the streets to her desired destination. Tyrion had offered to get her a carriage to make the journey easier, although he added that there weren’t many people left in the city to carry it, but she had politely refused, wanting to do it properly, in her terms. It had also given her more time to properly tell Bruda what had happened up north and the difficulties they had faced. 

Seeing Daenerys atop her throne once more, the one he had helped craft along with Gendry’s handiwork, Bruda had been joyous. The small smile that crept on her face, the one she wanted to fight to keep her expression neutral, was the one thing he had been waiting for. The members of her council that were there (Varys was travelling back from Winterfell with a small entourage of men, courtesy of Jon Snow) had knelt before her majesty, relieved that they were able to enjoy this moment, something hardly any of them had expected. Pretty soon after, it had been straight back to work, focusing on putting the city into check once more, restoring order, and informing the other large houses across the Seven Kingdoms that Daenerys Targaryen was their Queen once again.

It was a thrilling moment that was at odds with how Bruda felt now, as he slowly moved around the room. Not only had he wanted to pay some respects to the one friend he’d had during Ustrina’ short reign, hoping to preserve the chamber as it was (whoever became the next grandmaester would be able to make do with the plethora of other rooms the Keep had to offer, Bruda didn't care about that), it was also an opportunity to unearth any last research Marwyn had been working on. Bruda also thought that it was the best place to look for information on the magic of the tree that had been destroyed, with Daenerys not wanting to accept the simple answer that they were just lucky in terms with how they’d survived the backlash. He could tell that she was still worried that they would face some form of consequence for what they’d done, even when Bruda had told her that they should enjoy a victory for once. That had done little to improve her mood, possibly having quite the opposite effect on her.

Melisandre had offered to come with him to do this, knowing that he would probably struggle with the memories. Bruda had agreed, silently immensely grateful for her support (he had considered asking but had thought it would make him weak, a notion that, if she heard him admit, would make her incredibly irritated). She was standing behind him, a hand on his back, slowly pushing him further into the empty room. She’d been in here many times, helping Marwyn with complicated tasks, as well as practicing her new magic (he had been especially interested in and fascinated by that). With a click of her fingers, a few candles instantly burst into light, spreading a warmth around them that made the scene look slightly more pleasant. Bruda wanted to acknowledge yet another example of her growing skill, with how easily she had done that trick, but he instead concentrated on his task. 

They first looked around for personal belongings, searching drawers and cupboards, anything they could keep or put on show to remember him by. Being a maester though, there was very little that signified his own private character. The space was designed for work and research, not much else, as they’d thought it would. It was still a slight disappointment for Bruda, who had wanted to commemorate his memory in some fashion. Scanning the room, his attention was drawn to a large open book on the desk in the centre of the room. It looked like a weighty tome to say the least, the sort of book that only really keen intellectuals would want to have in their collection. Curious as to what Marywn had been reading before his death, Bruda sat down in front of it, Melisandre closely watching him as he did so. The first thing he spotted on the right hand page was a sketch drawing of a tree.

His eyes lit up as he put his spectacles on, quickly reading through the notes scrawled around the illustration. He flicked through previous pages and the ones that followed but there was nothing else to be found on the topic. He presumed that was down to it being a very niche area of research, one that was usually looked down upon by others across the Realm, especially those in Old Town and the Citadel. But there was enough information on the pages he had for realisation to dawn, improving his mood somewhat, something which Melsiandre picked up on immediately.

“What is it?” she asked, coming to stand behind her, leaning over his shoulder to read the words for herself. 

Bruda was stroking his beard in thought. “It’s like what Bran said. The stories here...they detail how the Children of the Forest formed the Night King with a piece of dragonglass and that tree, an old and mighty Weirwood. Their Gods looked down upon them and breathed magic through their arms, their hands. No wonder this has been pushed right to the back of a forgotten text because no one in their right mind would ever believe it. It’s a good thing then that we’ve never been in our right minds.” He had to pause from talking as Melisandre playfully slapped his arm, causing him to smirk. “It’s a miracle that it made it into the book in the first place.”

“That’s all well and good,” she commented, trying to make him get to the point. “But we already knew all of this from Brandon Stark’s texts. This is nothing new.”

“But don’t you see?” Bruda exclaimed gleefully, almost manically. “I was a fool! That tree has to be a centre of magic, which we already presumed from what we knew. But I just automatically believed that meant all magic when it clearly wasn’t. There’s a divide, as there is with all aspects of life between good and bad. What if this tree housed the dark elements of magic, hmm?”

“It would be nice to believe that, I know. But do you really think it could be that black and white? I’m a living example of how something bad can grow to be good.”

Bruda let out a small harrumph. “You weren’t exactly bad, let’s get that straight first of all. As for magic, the clues are there. If the Night King was formed by that tree, and Ustrina and Oslen were obviously connected to it since they’re no longer with us, then what were the similarities between the three of them?” He looked up at Melisandre as if he were waiting for her to answer, although he soon explained it himself. “A control over life and death. The Night King could bring back people from the dead, as could the two women. That twisted form of magic must have originated from that fixed point, which means, if you remove that point, that specific subset of magic is no longer viable.”

“So that means we were never in danger of dying when Daenerys destroyed the tree.”

“Well, she certainly didn't know that at the time and it seems like Oslen tried to convince her that it was the case in the hope of saving herself. Thankfully, that means we all should be safe now. That’s something less to worry about.”

“It seems like we’re getting a lot of good news at once,” Melisandre said, bending down to kiss him on the cheek.

Bruda was more sombre than she expected. “And Marwyn was just about to discover it or already had. He probably would have been about to tell me before they got him.” His voice was soft and broken.

She forced him to look her in the eyes, kneeling in front of him. “What happened was not your fault. He chose to stay with you and I will forever be grateful to him that he did so because I dread to think what would have happened to you if you’d been on your own for that time. You did not kill him.” She interrupted him with a pointed finger before he could argue with her. “What have I told you? It is not down to you to solve everything and it is definitely not down to you to carry the weight of everything that goes wrong. And, now I’m by your side, that means I can shoulder that burden too. Are you ready to start believing that?”

He smiled softly at her, almost falling in love with her all over again. “I think I can try.”

**********

There was a certain notion of joviality in the council chamber, which wasn’t normally the case when they were having one of their meetings. It was the first time that all of them had been together in the same room since their hasty exit from the Red Keep several months ago and they were thankful that this was in completely different and much more positive circumstances. Daenerys had called them together in the hope that they could run through all the things that needed doing to hopefully return to normality, a task that was daunting to all of them but they believed it was still feasible. Bruda had outlined his new theory about the tree to the queen, which had lessened her concerns a great deal, the shadow of potential death dissipating somewhat, although its presence could still be felt throughout the great castle. Regardless, Daenerys was all smiles as she entered the room, allowing Jorah to pull out her chair at the head of the long table. Her council members had all stood up at her arrival, even Bruda (although he had grumbled under his breath to Melisandre that his knees were too old to be doing such things), which was a rigid sign of formality that she tended to steer away from. She presumed that it was down to it being the first meeting of her second reign, as some people were calling it. As long as it didn't continue, she was fine with it for the time being.

Tyrion sat by her side, opposite the two warlocks. The first time they had been alone together since the Imp’s return to King’s Landing, Bruda had decided that it wouldn’t do anyone any good to hold any grudges against the small Lannister man for the animosity that had grown between them, hoping that they could start afresh. Tyrion, still wary that it might be a part of one of his usual tricks, had quickly agreed, knowing it was better for his job if he wasn’t fearing for his life. He had a long list of topics for discussion laid out in front of him, which Varys was attempting to read over his shoulder. The Spider had arrived the day before along with his Northern entourage; Daenerys had hoped that he would have come with some word from Sansa Stark, possibly an invitation to talk through pressing matters, especially the promises Daenerys had made during her time at Winterfell. When her face had shown her disappointment, the Master of Whispers had reminded her that she was the queen, not some silly little noble woman, so it would always be down to her to instigate private meetings. It was something to worry about but also a topic that Daenerys was willing to put to the back of her mind for a while, wanting to enjoy their collective success. 

“It’s very good to see you all here,” she began once she was comfortable. “Although I have spoken to you all privately at some point since our return, it is still a sight for sore eyes to have you all together again.” They all nodded their heads or smiled quickly at her comments, knowing that there was a lot to discuss and very little time to do it in. The needs of the Realm waited for no man or woman. “Where should we start then?”

“I think the most pressing concern,” Jorah said, looking around to see if anyone else wanted to butt in before him, “is the lack of soldiers we now have defending the city. Ustrina destroyed our numbers and, even though she resurrected most, I’m told that Viserion made sure that wasn’t going to happen again. I know that it’s unlikely for anyone to try but we could still be at risk of a large or powerful family attempting to take advantage of the situation.”

Daenerys raised a questioning eyebrow. “Large and powerful? I don’t think there are many houses in the kingdoms that fall into that category anymore. The Tyrells would be one but they’ve already pledged their allegiance again to the Crown. Olenna Tyrell has made it perfectly clear how they made no attempts to acknowledge Ustrina’s claim to the throne, which I’m led to believe is true.” She paused to glance over at Varys, who nodded his head slowly to confirm her beliefs. “Other than that...the Starks are the only ones who could pose a problem and I hope I’ve dealt with that possibility already. Maybe the Greyjoys could raise a number of fleets to threaten us but they mostly like to keep to themselves.”

“Even so, Khaleesi...it doesn’t send out a good message to the people in the city if they know that they don’t have any protection. The City Watch also dealt with internal troubles...fights, theft, assault...there may be a positive sentiment for the time being but it’s only a matter of time before it begins again. We need to get ahead of this before it becomes a real problem.”

“There have been some people who have applied to join the City Watch,” Gendry told them. “I think there’s a common thought amongst a lot of the people that they would have wanted to be able to defend themselves during the attacks...training them would give them the skills to do that. But it’s still nowhere near the number of men we had beforehand and it’ll be a while before the new recruits are trained.”

“We do have the Dothraki clans outside the city,” Bruda spoke up, looking directly at Daenerys. “They were swayed by Ustrina but not properly concerted like the soldiers and guards of the city. A little bit of convincing with a dash of magic was more than enough to return them to their normal selves, although some of the men’s pride was rather tarnished by what happened. I’m sure that they would be willing to slot in if you asked them to. They might have a price in mind for doing so but were not really in any position to overlook their...talents.”

“And what about the Unsullied?” Daenerys asked sadly. “Are they all dead?” She thought back on the time she had first come across them, so young and naive. When she had seen their skill and resilience, she had believed that they would win her the throne and, eventually, they had. To have lost them all in one fell swoop was heartbreaking, making her feel like she had failed them.

Bruda looked down at the table as he nodded his head forlornly. “Ustrina made sure she brought them all onto her side completely. They were massacred. Even before you destroyed her and put an end to her magic, they were already dead, empty shells. They turned to dust just like she did.”

Daenerys was struggling to keep her emotions in check as she tried to calculate how many lives that totalled. It was Davos who brought the attention away from her as she proposed a solution. “Could we not buy some more?” he wondered. “I’d be willing to travel to Astapor in your name. Surely they would have trained more of them after you’d left. Even if you left them at a temporary...disadvantage.” That was a rather large understatement of what she’d done to the slavers that day. But if even one of the masters had survived, it was certainly possible that they would have begun creating an army again.

“It is certainly worth seeing, Lord Davos,” Daenerys agreed. “I’ll ask Misandei to travel with you as well. She knows the society better than you and speaks the language, a skill I don’t think you possess.”

“Well, I’m sure I could figure out how to say hello but that’s the limit of my knowledge,” he said jokingly with a smile.

“And you will be accompanied by one of the dragons. Hidebyo is a magnificent and foreboding sight for those unused to such a spectacle. Even more so to those who will remember what happened the last time a dragon was in their city. It should help in your negotiations.” She was happy to see Davos nod his head in agreement as she hoped his beliefs were correct.

“Now that’s sorted,” Tyrion said with a cough to get their attention, as he scanned the list in front of him. “We do have a lot to plan. We’ve avoided a potential food shortage with the Tyrells staying loyal to their commitments, so it may be a good idea to reward them in some way. That would also encourage other families to stick to their allegiances, especially those in the north that we’re still slightly worried about. You can mull over what that reward can be at a later date.” Tyrion didn't see how Daenerys appeared to be not too thrilled at the prospect of celebrating someone doing as they had agreed, an act she thought was the bare minimum, but she was willing to accept this leniency this one time. “Also, we’ve been inundated with letters from across the kingdoms with families wanting to know whether their queen is still alive. Now, me and Lord Varys could spend a long time responding to all of their queries…” The way he spoke told them all that that was the last thing that he wanted to do. “...or we could put on a spectacle to announce your return. An event that will tell the entire Realm that you’re safe and healthy.”

“If you even mention the word tourney, Lord Lannister…” Daenerys bit out, remembering how painful the last one had been to organise and get through. So many fake smiles and too much bored clapping.

“The last one did work exceptionally,” Varys pointed out in his sickly sweet voice. “Public sentiment and support greatly increased and the money that was put back into the city made us self-sufficient for several months.”

Daenerys’ eyes lit up in excitement, which confused them all, as she glanced towards Jorah. He didn't particularly like that look in her eyes. “I’m not thrilled about the prospect of a tourney, I think you can all tell that. But what about a different sort of event?” She grabbed Jorah’s hands and looked right into his eyes, which was the moment when he realised what she was implying. “We’ve been planning to have the wedding for an age now. It’s only because of Ustrina that we haven’t already had it. A large celebration would have the same effects as a tournament and I’d certainly enjoy it more. It’d also solve the issue with  _ rewards _ , as Tyrion put it. Olenna Tyrell can have a front seat for the ceremony. Families can come from around the kingdom.”

“The Great Sept is still fairly damaged from our taking of the city,” Bruda reminded her carefully, not wanting to face her ire. “And, although you might not have strong beliefs towards the Faith of the Seven, a lot of the public wouldn’t be too happy with its omission.”

“Then you’d best get working on tidying the place up. As long as people can get inside and the ceremony can be done, then I don’t mind their being a giant hole in the roof.” She smirked devilishly as she saw Bruda’s look of pain, as the warlock considered the massive workload he now had in trying to deal with the destruction caused by a dragon landing on the building. Daenerys looked over to Bronn as she asked the next question. “We do have enough money to have a ceremony, don’t we?”

“I can move things around. It won’t be that much more expensive than putting a tourney on so it’s no big deal. If that’s what you want, I’ll make sure it happens.”

She smiled as she looked back at Jorah, waiting for his agreement. She could see how nervous he was, with his silly thoughts about not being good enough for her, worried that the noble families would think less of her because of his past reputation. As he slowly nodded his head, Daenerys vowed to make sure he knew that we was more than good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is up next! And I think you can see what it's going to cover. FINALLY. I'll look forward to seeing you all then.


	37. Weddings and Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People flock to King's Landing to celebrate the joy of their queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. A year and a half after I started Bruda, we reach the conclusion of this tale that spanned two stories. I am immensely proud to have brought my ideas to life and I hope you all enjoyed the ride as much as me. To everyone who read even a single chapter, left kudos or wrote encouraging comments, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Daenerys had been right when she’d expected a large crowd to flock to the city for her marriage ceremony, with people wanting to celebrate something and move on from the difficulties of the recent months. The streets, always usually so busy, were stiflingly congested as people swarmed around the partially restored building. The noise was unbelievable too, especially when the crowd cheered (or screamed) when one of the dragons lazily swooped over their heads for a bit of fun. It was a party atmosphere that most people had never experienced before or had imagined was possible. It was clear that they were all using it as an opportunity to forget about their collective troubles and focus on the prospect of a brighter future. From all over the kingdom, rich nobles had rushed to arrive at King’s Landing before others did, hoping to gain a space inside the Great Sept, offering to pay large sums of money if they had to. When news had spread of that happening, the queen had been rightfully appalled at her day becoming a political event, even though that had been one of its purposes. Bronn had calmed her down with the fact that he was bleeding these people dry when they waved about their money boastfully. That had put a smile on her face at least, along with the knowledge safe in her head that today was finally bringing the moment where she got to marry Jorah Mormont.

They hadn’t seen each other since the day previous, Bruda had made sure of that. Whenever either of them almost faltered, worried about what could go wrong and wanting to reassure themselves with the others’ presence, the warlock would seemingly appear from nowhere to stop that from happening. If it wasn’t him, it was Melisandre, who was slowly becoming as formidable a presence as her love, possibly even more so. The only sign they got from her that she was excited for the event rather than solely thinking about preventing their escape were the small smiles she would occasionally send them, noticeably around Daenerys. The two of them had started to grow closer ever since their private conversation on the road to Winterfell, a development that both Bruda and Jorah were happy about since it signalled that they might be getting the strong female friendship they needed to grow even more as people. 

Along with curtailing their attempts to see one another, Bruda had also been busy with implementing the final preparations for the ceremony. A septon had been brought in from Old Town since the former one had rather gruesomely died during Daenerys’ taking of the city. Repairs had been done to the Sept, or as much as he could accomplish in the short time frame. There was still a gaping big hole in the roof but there was no chance of the walls crumbling around them all whilst they were still inside. Hopefully it would be a sunny day, which it was proving to be thus far, otherwise he’d have to deal with a very wet and irritated mother of dragons. Crowd control was being done by many of the Dothraki men, along with a large group of wildlings who had travelled down with Jon and Tormund. Sandor Clegane was leading the effort to keep the hundreds of people at bay, mostly using some rather choice words and menacing looks to scare anyone who were attempting to start trouble. Davos had been in charge of controlling who came into the city through the ports, only allowing two ships to dock at a time. He’d never seen such a long queue of boats waiting in the same place and he had rushed to Bruda at least three times with a nervous sweat dripping onto his brow, asking for assistance that he never expected to get from the older man.

Inside the Great Sept of Baelor, if it could still be called such (Bruda had posed the idea to Daenerys that after the renovations were done, they could rename it in a more interesting manner), Jorah stood at the very front of the enormous hall, in the view of everyone as he waited on the steps, constantly looking towards the two doors of the entrance. In his mind, he was imagining what it would be like to see Daenerys once they opened to let her in, whether she would actually be there, or if there was still time for him to run away before he ruined her reputation. There was no chance of that last one happening. Davos was standing by his side, more of a guard for the time being than a friend. Bruda had instructed him to keep an eye on the groom, knowing that he had it in him to do something unbelievably stupid. They’d shared a few words but Jorah was too anxious to form proper sentences. It was still more than he’d said to the septon, an old, rotund man with two wispy strands of white hair stopping him from being bald, who had the personality of a sick dog, at least according to the Mormont knight. He guessed it was the best they could do - he doubted many people grew up wanting to be a septon anymore after the bad reputation the previous one had given them. 

The rows of people inside, waiting patiently with murmurs of excitement, were littered with familiar faces. Tyrion Lannister nodded his encouragingly towards Jorah, clad in a leather doublet, the silver pin that signified his position as Hand of the Queen shining against the sun that was pouring in through the cavernous hole in the roof. He had freshly polished it that morning to make sure he looked his best. He was slightly annoyed that he didn't have Missandei for company, having wanted to spend the extremely romantic event with someone other than his eunuch friend. He was sure that he should debate why she was the woman that had first come to mind but it wasn’t the time for such monumental questions. Varys was a vision of green and blue in his most expensive set of robes, his cheeks even more powdered than usual and his perfume even more pungent. The two of them were swapping stories, ones they had likely told one another before already, as they waited for Daenerys to arrive, sharing laughs as they did so. Gendry and little princess Shireen were nearby, the latter looking around eagerly as she took it all in, savouring her first proper wedding experience. Gendry was less excited, knowing that it would be his turn sooner rather than later, wondering if Davos had started looking around for his potential bride. The master of ships had paid for Shireen to have an elegant pink dress for the special occasion, which had caused her to squeal so much that he and Gendry had reckoned only dogs would have been able to hear her at one point. 

Lady Olenna Tyrell and her son Mace were in the front row too, as Daenerys had promised. The old matriarch of Highgarden had laughed heartily when she’d realised where the wedding was taking place, finding it amusing that the queen was not shying away from how she had claimed the throne. It was a rather clever message to everyone that she was not to be messed with despite her recent shortcomings without actually having to tell people she was dangerous. It was the sort of political cleverness that reminded the old woman why she had supported her all that time ago and reassured her that she had made the right choice. Jon and Tormund were sitting on the same row, looking slightly out of place due to their less refined attire. Giantsbane had attempted to slick his hair back but it was so untamed that even the strongest of gels wouldn’t work. Jon was in the throes of a bittersweet feeling, happy that this was happening for Daenerys but rueful that Sansa had decided not to come, a clear sentiment shining through that things weren’t completely fixed. He had no idea how Daenerys would react when she realised this was the case but he hoped she would just enjoy the day first, as much for their sakes as hers. He caught the eye of Melisandre, who was standing on the edge of the gathering crowd as she kept her gaze on the doors, a vision of red and gold, a mixture of who she had been and who she was now. She was a woman he still didn't completely trust thanks to their past interactions, although he could tell there was definitely something different about her. She appeared more like a normal person now, the first signs of which he had noticed at Daenerys’ coronation feast. It was a good job that he didn't have the best understanding of what her powers were now otherwise he would have been warier of constantly staring at her.

Jorah was taking in the sight of all of his friends being in one place, or at least colleagues at a stretch. He knew Daenerys wouldn’t be happy if she heard him saying such things, which was why he kept it to himself in case she somehow found a way to hear, but he had never been one to express his emotions. Before Daenerys, it had barely ever happened apart from when he had been with his wife and that experience had turned him away from it almost completely. Yet here he was, about to marry the greatest woman he had ever met. Not because it was arranged or it suited other people’s agendas. Because they were madly in love and wanted everyone to know it. He was still nervous that she would change her mind at the last moment and he still was of the conviction that her marrying him could do more harm than good. But the time for voicing those concerns was over since she had made it perfectly clear in the past that she had no time for those sorts of games. And she had warned him that she would get dangerously angry if she thought he was thinking along those lines.

“You look worried,” Davos said next to him, a teasing smile on his face. “I know it’s a nice warm day but you probably shouldn’t be sweating so much.”

Jorah sent him a quick glare as he wiped at his forehead. “You’d be nervous if you were in my position.”

“Aye, that I would. But, then again, I don’t know Daenerys as well as you and she certainly doesn’t love me in the same vein so the marriage would be on the rocks from the start.”

“You know what I meant,” Jorah grumbled. 

“I do. And my point still stands. There is nothing that can go wrong today. We’ve dealt with our troubles and today is our reward for that. Queen Daenerys is in love with you, it’s plain and simple. The fact that it’s taken you so long to get to this point is one of life’s strangest oddities.”

“We’ve had a lot of bad luck and poor timing. But maybe you’re right. Maybe this time...everything will work out.”

“Of course it will,” Davos assured him. “And if Daenerys asks how you were so calm during the ceremony...because she will be expecting you to be a bundle of nerves...then don’t forget to give me credit for the pep talk.”

**********

Outside the Sept, Bruda stood on the high steps leading to the entrance, wearing the same outfit as he normally did. Melisandre had put forward the idea that he choose something different for once, something more refined for the occasion, but he had told her that the one thing Daenerys needed today was some semblance of normality to anchor her, and he was all too happy to provide that. It was a rather neat excuse when the only explanation was that he didn't have any other clothes and he didn't especially want to find anything new. The warlock looked over the crowd, the shifting, excited mass that it was, smiling sporadically if anyone had the nerve to make eye contact with him. He would sometimes wave, enjoying the spotlight, and, a couple of times, he had harmlessly shot bursts of magic into the sky like vibrant fireworks to keep them all entertained (as well as to keep them back away from the doors because they would be too terrified to approach him, just how he liked it). He’d found that most of his energy had come back in the time between Ustrina’s defeat and the day of the wedding, feeling like he had returned back to normal. Although Bruda could still tell that it hadn’t returned completely, the price one had to pay for reaching such an age. It wasn’t that bad a thing, with the comforting knowledge that Melisandre could now do the majority of the heavy lifting for him.

The old man, when he wasn’t attempting to impress the crowd, was anxiously waiting for the guest of honour to arrive. He knew Daenerys liked to make a bold entrance but she was leaving it rather late this time. He thought about rushing over to the Keep like a mad man, barking orders out to whoever would listen so that he could find out where she was. Before he took such drastic measures, his attention was brought to the large audience in front of him swelling in noise, before a gentle hush that should have been impossible washed over them. The centre of the crowd parted to create a path and Bruda stood up straighter, flattening out his cloak, as he realised what it meant. Showtime. He spotted her vibrant blonde hair first of all as she approached slowly, held up by those closest to her trying to reach out and touch her. The few guards around her appeared to want to do something about that but Daenerys had obviously reassured them that it was alright, wanting to show that she was the queen of the people as she had always promised she would be. The only thing brighter than her hair was the glowing smile lighting up her face and Bruda felt immensely proud that he was involved in seeing her reach this point.

When she started up the stairs, he was blown away by her beauty as he got to appreciate it up close. Her gown was a pristine white, shaped perfectly to her body, the tail trailing behind her. Missandei had been with her all day, helping her get ready, and was now the one tasked with holding the dress up at the back. The one she was wearing herself was the finest she had ever worn, specially commissioned by Daenerys as a thank you for the years of servitude and, more importantly, friendship. Bruda bowed as the queen neared him, her smile only growing when she saw the unusual show of formality from the warlock. He softly placed a kiss to her hand before straightening his back to gaze at her. For a moment, there was no one else, the crowd becoming nothing more than background noise, as they looked at each other. It seemed like they were both remembering the journey they had taken together to get to this point. From their first meeting in Meereen, which had seen him put in a cell on her orders, to him saving her life on countless occasions. Daenerys loving him too much to let him go when he fell at the Battle of Winterfell, bringing him back like he had hoped she would. It wasn’t just the big moments though. They both looked back on the small conversations they’d shared, opening up to one another in a way they had never done so with other people. As they put the countless moments together, they were quite shocked at how important they had grown to be for each other. 

“You are normally a sight to behold, my queen,” Bruda greeted as he broke from his reverie, “but you truly are breathtaking today.”

“Referring to me with titles, complimenting me...someone would suspect today was important or something,” she responded with a grin. “Or that you had finally learnt some manners.”

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up about the latter. By tomorrow, I’ll be back to normal and you’ll miss this version of me.”

“I could never wish for you to change. Not after everything we’ve been through together. I couldn’t envisage anyone else standing here with me right now.” Her eyes were starting to water and he quickly intervened before they ruined her appearance, wiping them away gently. “Now, my wonderful warlock...would you do me the honour of walking me down the aisle?”

Bruda had never been one for emotion but, as she asked him that question, he was almost overcome with warmth and pride. How had he ever been lucky enough to be a part of her life, so much so that she respected him enough to let him play that role in her wedding? He nodded his head enthusiastically and held out his arm for her to take. They took a few steps towards the doors before Bruda stopped her. Daenerys gave him a questioning look but he just smiled softly. 

“Before we go in...I just have to tell you...how immensely proud of you I am. The fact that you have faced hurdle after hurdle in your life and have come out the other side even stronger than when I first met you...it is a testament to your character. To have watched you grow into the woman before me now has been one of my greatest privileges and I look forward to watching your journey continue.”

Daenerys was trying not to cry again as she hugged the warlock close. “I always knew you were a lot warmer on the inside than you care to admit. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone else that the strong old man is secretly a romantic with a superb way with words.” She laughed as he chuckled at her antics and they gestured for the two guards to open the doors.

Just like Bruda had been stunned by the vision that she was, the people inside the Sept were equally as blown away by the sight of her. Jorah’s heart felt like it exploded when he saw her, wondering what he had ever done in life to deserve this. They slowly walked down the aisle as everyone else stood up. Daenerys smiled at her guests, some she didn't recognise, some she owed her life. She was faintly aware of their smiles and wet eyes but she could only focus on the man waiting for her. She smiled almost nervously at him as she appreciated the suit he was wearing. They joined hands once she was opposite him, Bruda leaving her side with one last reassuring squeeze of her hand as he joined Melisandre, Davos walking down to join Gendry and Shireen. Daenerys and Jorah stared lovingly at one another as the Septon began to speak. Daenerys could hardly tell what he was saying as she concentrated on the man she loved in front of her. As she looked back on the trials she had been put through constantly throughout her life, she was sure in her mind that she was grateful that her story of Winter and Fire had brought her to this point.


End file.
